Subterfuge
by Bouncemess
Summary: This story continues where After Shock left off: Will the Mercers be able to track down Adam Macks before his plot for revenge can come full circle? And just how close will Macks manage to get to them before the truth comes out?
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I couldn't leave Christmas morning hanging there, so it seemed a good place to start. Hope you all enjoy, and please review and let me know what you think!

I do not own, nor do I profit ....

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**Chapter 1: A Special Gift**

After everything that had happened, Craig wasn't sure that he was going to be able to enjoy Christmas the way he had pictured it in his mind. That particular holiday had impacted him so strongly the first time he had experienced it, and he had been aching for that same feeling. Now, as he watched Angel going through the packages, checking the tags, he wasn't so sure that he could ever see that holiday, any holiday, in the same way again. His mother wasn't there to lead him through it and prove to him that he was wanted by someone and loved, and good enough.

He knew at some level that his brothers cared, and they would be there, but on another level that fear of losing that feeling of belonging would always hover around him. He had promised himself that this was going to mark a new start though. He wasn't going to let himself fall into the fears that were lurking just below the surface of his conscious thoughts. He was going to get past them, and he was going to beat them.

His brothers had put a lot of thought and effort into making this day feel as normal as possible considering the events of the past few days, which only added to the desperation that had overwhelmed him since the day his mother had been shot. He wasn't going to let the past month haunt him for the rest of his life, and this was the beginning of getting past that. Despite telling himself that, it didn't ease the feeling of loss. His mother's absence on this day was going to be the most difficult thing to face.

Craig sat on the end of the couch nearest the tree with Jack on his right, a space in between them to leave room for the boxes to be stacked up as they were unwrapped. Bobby sat in a chair on the other side of the coffee table, using it for holding his coffee mug, for a change. Angel was planted on the floor, sitting cross legged, handing out packages as he went through them. He would stop to open anything with his own name on it. His brothers had been at each other from the moment Angel came running down the stairs yelling that it was Christmas. He'd gotten Jack out of his bed in the dining room and had thrown a fit when Bobby said they had to wait for the coffee to run. Craig didn't mind waiting, he was sorry to lose the peaceful, quiet, half sleep that he'd fallen into and the time helped him to get his thoughts in order for the big event that Angel was so excited about.

Blue jeans, shirts, underwear, and socks, just what Craig had expected for the most part, Christmas was always the time to stock up on clothes. What surprised him was the large box that contained the sketchpads, charcoal pencils and pastel chalk. The real supplies that artists used, not the kids stuff you would buy in the arts and crafts section at Wall Mart. No more number two lead pencils, though he was used to the feel of those. He'd adjust, he was sure, and he would do it happily.

He had always wanted the real stuff, had always begged his mother for the big sketch pads, the ones that had real texture to the page, and the charcoal pencils so that he could get the deeper shades that he needed. Evelyn had said that one day, when she was sure he could appreciate the level of commitment needed to be a real artist, she would make sure he had all of the supplies he needed.

The pastels would be different, he would be able to fill his pages with real color now, and he wouldn't be limited in what he put down on the paper. He didn't know which brother had given him the gift. There had been no name on the tag identifying the giver; it had only held his name.

The other large box that had been for him, the one that his brothers seemed so anxious for him to open went untouched until he'd gone through all of the supplies in the box. He didn't really care if he opened anything else, he would have preferred to take his box to the dining room table and open everything up, testing the feel of the paper under the new drawing utensils, which came in their own separate wooden cases. Nothing in the box was cheap, he knew that, and he wished he knew who to thank. Rather than asking at that moment he decided to catch each of his brothers alone and ask them one at a time. For some reason they hadn't put their name on the package, maybe they didn't want anyone else to know. He had a suspicion that it was Jack. With his music being so important to him, he would be the only brother who could relate to his connection with drawing and understand the importance of the contents of that box.

He would have gone through his new art supplies much more thoroughly if Jack hadn't reached over from next to him on the couch and pulled the box from his lap. "Come on, you got more to open." He pushed the box onto the coffee table, clearing the way for Angel to drop the other large box on Craig's lap. It was defiantly heavier than the art supplies.

Craig looked at the tag; this one was from all of his brothers, including Jerry. He was struggling against a nagging guilt for not having something to give to each of them. They had given him much more than he'd ever expected, they had gone through hell for him, and there was nothing under the tree from him to them. He carefully pulled the tape apart at the top of the box, and started to peel the paper back. Jack sighed heavily and reached over. "You need to learn how to open presents, you don't need to preserve the paper; it's disposable." He started ripping at the seams of the wrapping, pulling it away to reveal a game system. He grinned big and pointed to the box. "You know this has a guitar with it."

"The hell with that, they got a war game for it and it's like you're really there, the graphics are amazing." Angel spoke up, holding his arms up as if he were holding a rifle and imitating the motion of firing off some rounds.

"Screw those." Bobby spoke from the chair he'd pulled closer to the coffee table. "What the hell, you all gonna give away the rest of it before he even opens them?" He grinned and winked at Craig. "They wanted this so they could play, you know that, right?"

Craig stared at Bobby for a long moment, "Did you get Grand Theft Auto?" He asked; sure Bobby was just as excited to have the game system as Angel and Jack were, and that game seemed to fit his oldest brother more than any other he could think of.

Bobby grinned, "My kind of fuck-freakin' game." He corrected himself a little too late. Craig wondered how long it would take him to forget his promise to watch how he talked around his youngest brother. It wasn't natural for the man, and Craig was sure it wouldn't last long.

Angel lifted the game system off of Craig's lap and set it down carefully on the floor next to Bobby's chair. There weren't many packages left. Once the rest of the gifts had been opened Bobby scanned the mess of paper and ribbons that were scattered around on the floor and piled up on the empty chair that Angel was sitting in front of. "You think we should get a trash bag?" He asked.

Angel looked up at Bobby and then shifted his stare to the various hills and valleys of blue, red, green and gold, "Probably." He sighed. "The last thing I want to listen to is Jeremiah's bitchin' about the house bein' a wreck."

"Besides, we'll need to clear the way for the rest of the presents when Jerry's family and Sofi get here." Jack pointed out. "Then we can clean it all up a second time."

Craig reached for his box of art supplies and pulled it back to him. He started pulling out the wooden boxes to re-examine their contents and try to get familiar with everything that was there.

"You can't put that down for nothin', can you?" Angel looked at Craig, his voice was teasing, and he had a small grin on his face.

Craig looked at Angel, and he couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. He had wanted to wait and ask each one in private about who had gotten him what he'd wanted more than anything in the world, but he needed to know who to thank. "Who got it for me?" He looked from Angel to Bobby, and then shifted his gaze to Jack, certain he was the brother he would be thanking.

Jack looked at Bobby, his mouth opened but he didn't speak. Craig looked at Bobby as well, from Jack's reaction he expecting him to be the one to confess to getting the art materials, but Bobby just drew in a deep breath and glanced at Angel. Craig was starting to feel a little hesitant, not understanding what the big deal was. He looked at Angel; the expression on the man's face was blank as he shook his head and pointed to Bobby.

Craig returned his stare to Bobby. "Why won't you tell me?" He asked.

Bobby drew in a deep breath, cleared his throat loudly and started nodding his head. "I found those in Ma's closet." He told the teen. "They were in a brown bag that had your name and 'Christmas' written on it." He spoke a little too fast, and his voice sounded a little choked at the moment. He cleared his throat again before going on. "She was good at that. Finding shit ahead of time and buyin' it to put up for Christmas." He forgot to correct his own cussing. "She had some things for the girls too, but this was the big one." He pointed to the box in Craig's lap. "I guess she knew you pretty damn well, huh? You can't put it down." He laughed.

Craig looked down into the box. Yeah, she knew him pretty damn well. He felt tears trying to pool and he didn't want to cry. He let one of his hands rub down the edge of the wooden box containing the large variety of pastels. He felt his bottom lip starting to quiver. Evelyn had said she would make sure he had all the supplies he needed when she felt he appreciated the commitment it would take, and apparently she thought he had reached that level. He had always wanted to make her proud of his drawing, and she had always said that she was proud, he just hadn't been sure; he'd never felt as if he'd really done well enough to make her proud of him. Knowing that she had spent the time to find just the items he'd been wanting, and to pay for the real thing, not the cheap stuff, he felt it now. She really had been proud and had really understood. The tears fell, and he reached up to wipe them away.

"She loved you kid." Jack reached out with his hand and let it rest on Craig's back. "That's not something that will ever go away, you got that?" He spoke quietly.

Craig nodded his head, but the tears were still coming and he felt choked up. "I miss her." He managed to get the words out but his voice trembled.

"Yeah, we know exactly how you feel." Angel moved from his position on the floor to the couch, trying to slip himself into the narrow space between Craig and the couch arm. Jack moved the boxes between them onto the floor and Craig moved towards Jack enough that Angel could squeeze in.

Bobby stood and stepped over the coffee table with little trouble. He slid some more boxes down towards the end of the table and sat down on it directly in front of the boy. "You know, I think she's still hangin' around here, watchin' to see what the hell we're up to." He laughed as he looked at Angel. "She always had her eye on us. We couldn't get anything by her."

"Yeah, too bad you never realized that when you were a kid, man you would have saved yourself from a lot of bullshitting." Jack laughed.

"What does that mean?" Bobby asked, trying to look shocked by the words.

"Like when you got caught coming home drunk when you was sixteen, trying to sneak in the basement, all staggering around in the dark." Angel spoke up, a grin on his face. "Ma had been watching you for weeks, knew when you snuck out and when you were sneaking in. She even followed you a few times. She finally had enough of it and busted you comin' in one night. You started layin' on a line 'bout someone tryin' to break in and you were just protecting your brothers and your beloved mother, trying to keep us all safe and sound." He laughed, and had to take a breath. "You even went as far as to describe what the intruder looked like, the whole time you were holding a bottle of beer in one hand, and you were using your other hand to hold onto the wall so you wouldn't fall flat on your ass."

"Yeah, and she just let you ramble on and on about it, until you were ready to drop. Then she dragged your butt to the kitchen, sat you down and started making out a list of all the extra chores you were gonna have for the next month." Jack nodded his head. "I believe she locked that basement door for a few months too."

"What about you?" Bobby looked at Angel. "I'm sure you felt just a little weird when she came home from work early and busted you and Sofi in the laundry room, on the washing machine." He spoke a little louder than he needed to, but he laughed. "I would have given anything to see the look on your face when she stepped in, just as calm as could be and asked both of you to meet her in the living room, that she needed to talk to you."

"Not to mention the look on your face when she handed you a box of condoms and proceeded to explain to you how to use them. Didn't she open one and actually show it to you?" Jack pointed to Angel. "Tell me something Angel, what did that feel like?"

"She caught us by accident, it was not planned." Angel insisted as he shook his head.

"Oh, you think Ma carried a box of condoms around in a paper bag all of the time just in case the opportunity came up to embarrass one of her sons?" Jack sat back into the couch, letting out a pleasant sigh. "She knew for a while before she did that. You all thought you could get one past her, and you never could."

"Yeah, you really should have thought to turn the knob on the washer to the 'off' position Angel. I have to admit it took her a little longer to figure out than it should have, she just didn't understand why it was always set to spin." Bobby turned his attention to Jack, "And what about you, Mr. High and Mighty, thinking you could get yourself a nose ring without her finding out about it." He laughed.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "I still say that wasn't so bad, it was just gonna be one little ring." He reached up to the middle of his nose and pinched where the ring would have been, and he seemed to frown at the memory.

"You didn't think that she would notice a freakin' ring hanging out of your nose?" Bobby laughed a little harder. "You weren't even sixteen."

"Well it's not like I got it, now is it?" Jack looked a little irritated.

"Well of course not. I'm sure that guy wasn't about to poke any holes in you after your Mommy marched into his shop, giving him what-for. The guy knew you weren't old enough and he was gonna pierce your nose anyway." Angel leaned up and grinned at Jack. "So what did it feel like Jackie Poo, having your Mommy grab hold of you by that nose and haul your ass out of there?" He laughed.

"How did she find out about that anyway? I never told anyone I was going there, not even you guys." Jack seemed genuinely curious.

"Who knows Jackie; it's amazing what a parent can know without ever being told a thing." Bobby let his gaze fall on Craig. "What about you? You got anything she busted you for?" He asked.

Craig shook his head slowly. "Not really." He muttered.

"What about that paint job you did at the school?" Angel asked.

"That wasn't planned, the school called her about that." Craig muttered. "She wasn't happy." He remembered the lecture his mother had given him about putting himself in a dangerous situation by crawling out onto the second story ledge.

"Oh I bet not." Angel grinned. "By the way, I got a question for you." A thoughtful expression crossed his face.

Craig looked at Angel, "Yeah?" He was feeling a little less like crying, enjoying the stories of how his mother had taken control of his brothers, putting them in their place when it was needed. It felt good to remember her, to feel as if she were t here with them.

"Who is that girl you painted on the school anyway?" Angel asked.

Craig felt a smile creep across his lips. He hadn't wanted Angel to see his work at the school, but he had the feeling it was too late to prevent that. "Who does it look like?" He asked, eager to see if Angel had an idea.

Angel's eyes narrowed. "That was not Sofi." He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.

"Sofi thought it looked pretty good." Craig commented. "She wasn't real happy with where it was, but she thought it looked good." He leaned away from Angel slightly, letting Jack pull his arm around his shoulder when he seen the look on Angel's face.

"How do you even know what she looks like naked?" Angel cried out.

"I don't. I've seen her in her bikini though, and I just guessed at the rest." Craig pulled a little closer to Jack when Angel leaned towards him.

"We are gonna get that paint off of that school by the end of the week." The man spoke firmly.

"Mom already paid the school to remove it, but they never did." Craig muttered, remembering the guilt that he'd felt for his mother having to pay out so much money for his stunt.

"Screw the school, I'm gonna go up there and get it off myself." Angel looked at Bobby. "You knew the whole time, didn't you?" He shook his head.

Bobby laughed. "No I didn't, but it sure did look like her." He looked at Craig and shook his head. "What the hell made you pick Sofi?"

Craig shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't know anyone else besides Camille, and you don't think Jerry would have killed me if I'd painted her?" He looked at Bobby; the answer should have been obvious to his brother.

"You didn't think Angel would kill you?" Jack asked. He tightened his protective hold on the boy when Angel leaned a little closer.

"Angel wasn't here." Craig defended his choice, looking back to Angel's narrow stare, "Jerry was."

"It's coming down." Angel spoke quietly. His eyes were fixed on the boy. "Wait a minute. Sofi knew?" He cried out, his eyes widening as he sat straight up.

Craig nodded his head, "Mom made me tell her." But he didn't bother to add that after the initial explosion Sofi had gone down to the school and taken pictures.

Angel grinned at that. "So, Mom did bust you down good for the stunt. I thought so." He nodded his head.

"I was grounded 'till hell froze over." Craig remembered the look on his mother's face when she'd told him that. He let his body relax next to Jack. He waited for a few minutes to see if Angel was done. When nothing else was said he drew in a deep breath. "What about Jerry? Did he ever get into trouble?" He asked, keeping his gaze downward, at the art supplies in the box that was still on his lap. He already knew the answer, but it was a chance to change the subject.

That brought on more stories than Craig had ever expected. Jerry it seemed had a much more colorful past than he would have ever guessed. He knew all of his brothers had been in jail at various times, and he'd known that Jerry had been no saint when he was younger, but it seemed Jerry was involved in a lot more trouble than the law had known about. Evelyn had caught him though, and Craig was sure that it was her unique form of parenting that pushed him to set more productive goals for himself.

Eventually the stories had to stop so that the shredded and crumbled wrapping paper could be cleaned up. Bobby helped Angel from his chair, but when Craig and Jack started to help they were both told not to even think about it. The gifts, except for Craig's box of treasures which he held onto, were all boxed back up and set back under the tree, towards the back, to make room for any gifts that Jerry and Camille would bring. Angel went upstairs and returned minutes later with an armful of new presents, all labeled for Jerry and his family, and he positioned them under the tree carefully. "That looks good." He sounded proud of his efforts.

Craig and Jack both sat on the couch, eating cereal, while Bobby and Angel went around the house cleaning. Sofi walked in a little after ten with large ham in her arms. Angel went to her car to retrieve the rest of the holiday meal and the presents she'd brought with her, and then she took charge of the kitchen, kicking the men out.

Craig was enjoying watching Bobby move things around to one area only to have Angel come behind him and move them back. Finally Jack excused himself to go take his medication and Bobby brought Craig's wide variety of pills to him. He was surprised when Bobby told him he could go upstairs and get a shower, under his watchful eye of course, since the meds would make him groggy. He hadn't been looking forward to having to wash out of a basin in front of his brothers.

It took nearly two hours for the three men and teenager to shower and dress. It was longer than Craig was used to seeing. They would take turns in the restroom, and Craig was surprised when Bobby insisted that they all dress for the holiday, just like Evelyn had always preferred. He was even more surprised to learn that Bobby could actually put the proper knot into a neck tie, and was thankful for that since he couldn't tie one himself. It seemed strange not be heading off to church, as Evelyn would have made them do if she'd been there, but no one else mentioned the morning service, so Craig didn't bring it up. He didn't think he was feeling up to it, and he was sure his brothers weren't either.

The rest of the day seemed to play out like Christmas always did, and the familiarity of it was comforting. It gave Craig the chance to shut out the memories of the past week, and forget about the confusion that had been overwhelming him before. He found he was able to laugh a little at some of the jokes his brothers passed back and forth, and he enjoyed watching his nieces open their presents. The gifts from their grandmother were hats, scarves and mittens that she'd knitted herself, and he could remember holding the yarn up in his hands for her as she worked. Bobby had gotten each girl a doll, and Jack had given them toy guitars, which wasn't a surprise. The presents the girls seemed most happy with seemed to be the trucks Angel had given to them. The girls rolled them across the floor and smashed them into each other, over and over again. Bobby made a remark that they might be girls, but they were definitely Mercers.

Dinner had been eaten under the rumble of everyone talking at once. Craig hadn't argued when Bobby made sure he was sitting next to him, though it did irritate him, just slightly when Bobby went on to fill his plate for him the same as he had been doing before. He fought it down, knowing good and well why Bobby was still treating him as if he didn't trust him to eat. He didn't feel like eating and he had to force every bite down. He was sure it would get easier with time; at least he hoped it would, but with every bite his mind would think about the crackers that he'd lost in the basement. He reminded himself that he had been hungry then, and would have given anything to have a dinner as nice as what was in front him at that moment.

He pushed the thoughts back, and concentrated on what was going on around him, and hearing his brothers laughing and talking just like they always had. Angel asked Sofi about the painting of her at the school and she just smiled and said something about being the first great work of a future great artist was a privilege. It embarrassed Craig a little and when he flushed Bobby couldn't let it go. All in all it was a good day; one that Craig was sure would fill several pages in one of his new sketch pads. Though by the time dinner was over his head was starting to ache dully and the sounds of the forks and knives clinking against the plates seemed to vibrate through his skull.

After dinner, while the rest of the family moved to the living room, Bobby gave him his pills and then pointed to the bed, "You need to get a little rest, you don't look too good." He spoke calmly as Craig downed the last pill with the glass of water Bobby had provided.

Craig didn't argue; he was feeling a little drained. He moved from the table to the bed and curled up on top of the blankets, not wanting to mess it up too much. He watched as Jack joined Sofi and Camille in the living room with the girls, and his other brothers started clearing the table, insisting they were going to clean up. He wondered if they would all manage to stay in the kitchen long enough to get the task accomplished this time. He could hear Jack's guitar after a while, strumming out a soft melody. He wasn't sure what song it was, but it was soothing, and he could feel his mind drifting along with the tune, floating off into a dream that for once wasn't full of monsters.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to all for reading and for the reviews :) (Definiton further in was borrowed from several different versions online, can't take credit for that... )

Do not own, make not money...

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**Chapter 2: Dealing With The Moment**

Bobby stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Craig sleep. He could hear Jack's music drifting around the house like a feather, and was sure that had helped the youngest Mercer drift so quickly, the medication probably had a small part in it as well. Craig hadn't mentioned Adam Macks since the early morning hours, when Bobby had told him the truth, that a body had not been pulled from the frozen pond, that the search was delayed because of the ice. He was worried about the kid; he seemed to be doing pretty good right then, almost too good. He was waiting for something to break, like it had before.

Craig had gone through a drastic change in the past twenty four hours, and Bobby wasn't sure if it was such a good thing. It just didn't feel right. He was a little quiet, but he was talking. He had even laughed a few times, and it had felt good to see him laugh, but there was something nagging at the back of Bobby's mind, something seemed to be missing, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He wasn't sure if it was the lack of a real reaction when he'd shared the news about Adam Macks' body not being found yet, or the lack of much emotion from him that day. Yeah, the kid had cried a little when he'd found out the one gift he couldn't put down was from his mother, and he had laughed a little and been polite and thanked everyone for the gifts that he'd gotten, but just twenty four hours earlier he'd been pissed at the world. He'd told Bobby the night before that he was angry at him, and Bobby couldn't help but wonder what the boy was doing with that anger now. Maybe it had been better for him to be able to get it out, to release it somehow, but he wasn't doing that now, so what was he doing? Was he hiding from it like he was so good at, or was he really okay right now at that moment?

The boy had experienced a flashback of sorts the night before; he was sure, though it had come out in the form a nightmare. He knew he'd been given some pretty strong shit when he was with Macks, and he was hoping the flashbacks wouldn't be a frequent thing. He also knew that the shit his little brother had been forced to trip on was a good cocktail for controlling him, controlling his thoughts, filling his head with whatever the fuck Mack's wanted to put there. Macks was a sick son of a bitch, and it scared him to think of what ideas Macks may have planted in Craig's head. What worried him more was not having a clue how to fix it.

It seemed too soon for the kid to have gotten past any of what had happened to him at the hands of his father, but it appeared as if he wasn't acknowledging that it had even happened though it was obvious that he remembered it. Bobby would rather see him punching walls than burying the shit inside. He didn't want to end up with an emotional wreck to tend to, like before. He could let it go for now, it was Christmas, but there were things that needed to be talked about once the holiday was done, once he was sure his little brother was healing.

He turned and looked at the dry dishes that were piling up on the counter. Jerry was washing, Angel was drying and Bobby was supposed to be putting them away. He walked over and opened the cupboard door where the glasses needed to be placed. He watched as Angel used his good hand to hold the glass, and the hand of his broken arm to wipe the water away.

"Okay man, what's on your mind?" Jerry spoke quietly, leaning past Angel to look at Bobby. "You got that look on your face, and it's giving me the chills."

Bobby frowned. "I told Craig we didn't know for sure if Mack's was dead." He admitted.

"What?" Angel cried out, a little louder than Bobby had expected.

"Shut the fuck up Angel, you wanna wake him up?" Bobby started loading the cupboard with the cleaned and dried glasses.

"Why the hell would you go and tell him that?" Jerry asked, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

"Because he asked, more than once," Bobby turned and looked at Jerry. "I couldn't lie to him. I told him all I knew for sure was that I saw Angel shoot him, and I saw him fall. I told him they hadn't pulled a body out yet because of the ice, and until they did I couldn't say that he was dead." He took a quick glance behind him to ensure that Craig was still in the bed, and then looked at his brothers. "I didn't mention the phone call. That's the last thing he needs to know about." He finished putting the glasses away and moved on to the plates that Angel was stacking up next to him on the counter.

"Why didn't you just tell him the fucker was dead?" Angel kept his voice quiet while rubbing the towel around on a plate.

"Because if I tell him that and that sack of shit shows up to try to…" Bobby drew in a deep breath, stopping himself from speaking the unthinkable. "I couldn't lie to him Angel. He would never trust me if I lied to him about that."

Angel sighed and nodded his head slowly. "You decided what we're gonna do?" He asked. "We gonna just sit around here and wait to see if he does show up or are we gonna go out and find him first, if he's even there to find?"

Bobby shook his head. "For now, we wait and see if Green finds out anything with his cop routine. If he doesn't, then we go out and use our thug routine, it's worked so far." He started carefully setting the plates in the cupboard and waited for the next batch of dishes to come his way.

"Well at least you're willing to give Green a chance before you take to the streets roughing up people." Jerry commented.

"Don't start that shit Jerry." Bobby looked at him. "We don't go after anyone unless we have a fuckin' good reason, and you know it."

"I wasn't starting anything. I'm just glad that you're showing Green a little trust is all. It's a big step for you, I know that." Jerry kept his tone calm, almost amused.

"I'm still not sure about trusting him too much. Having his help didn't stop Macks before, now did it?" Bobby asked.

"It might not have stopped him, but you have to admit that if it weren't for Green we'd all probably be celebrating Christmas from a jail cell." Jerry reached for a scratchpad on the edge of the sink.

"Yeah, he does have a point Bobby; and you gotta admit that if Green hadn't been working with us we wouldn't have been able to track that ass hole down. Tracing that cell phone call, man that got us a location pretty damn quick and he was able to tip us off that Macks had turned around and was heading back." Angel dried another plate and set it on the counter.

"Yeah, I know that, and I know we owe him. But he's still a fucking cop, and that just bothers me." Bobby muttered.

Jerry laughed. "Damn, you gotta look past the badge Bobby. It's Green. You've known him for how many years? You knew him long before he carried a badge. He's still the same person, and maybe you need to focus on the fact that we do know of at least one good cop." Jerry rinsed off the bowl he'd been scrubbing on and put it in the drainer for Angel.

Angel reached for the bowl, but stopped. "Can someone answer a question that has really been buggin me?"

"What?" Bobby looked surprised.

"What the hell is Green's first name?" Angel looked at Bobby, and then turned to look at Jerry.

Jerry laughed. "Hell, I've only ever known him as Green." He admitted.

Bobby shook his head. "Yeah, he doesn't appreciate his given name." He held back a laugh and let a serious expression cross his face.

"Why?" Jerry asked, leaning up enough to look at Bobby past Angel. "What is his name?"

"Naw, man, I ain't gonna let that out. I wouldn't do that to him even if he is a cop. Don't worry about it." Bobby pointed to the bowl in Angel's hands. "Are you gonna dry that or take it out on a fucking date?" He asked.

Angel quickly dried the bowl off with the towel. "Come on man that just ain't right. Tell us his name." He gave Bobby a sideways glance.

"Let him piss me off first. I'll feel less guilty." Bobby took the bowl from Angel and put it away, grunting quietly at the pulling on his ribs when he reached up over his head. "Besides, I'm injured so give it a rest."

Jerry was willing to let it go for the time being, and Angel, after a few more attempts at prying the information from Bobby, finally gave up. They finished in the kitchen and then joined the rest of the family in the living room.

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Craig woke a couple of hours later to find that his brothers had managed to get the new game system hooked up to the television, and were enjoying it for him. He didn't try to join in; it was too entertaining watching the men act like teenagers. He sat with Camille and Sofi and watched as his brothers yelled at the T.V screen. It was obvious several times that Bobby wanted to let out a long string of quite descriptive words, but he managed to substitute words like 'fudge', 'heck', and 'darn'. Craig showed the women the box of art supplies that would be the last gift he'd ever receive from his mother, and then he took his nieces into the dining room, giving them each some paper and crayons.

The little girls worked on drawing and coloring while he finally had the opportunity to do some drawing of his own, using the new charcoal pencils and one of the new pads of paper. By the time Jerry and Camille started talking about getting ready to leave Daniela and Amelia were curled up on one end of the couch sleeping. Craig was still in the dining room, and had filled several pages in one of his new sketch pads with images from that day, but he thought the best one was of his brothers gathered around the television with game controls in their hand.

He managed to keep busy enough that his mind didn't have a chance to think about the past few days, and what had happened. He didn't want to think about it yet, it was too fresh in his mind, and he could still feel the pains in his body. Until he could put some distance between himself and what had happened, he didn't want to think about Adam Macks, or the fact that a body hadn't been pulled out of the pond. He couldn't let himself get involved with that thought cycle; it would suck him in and he would never be able to pull himself free of it. In a way, yes he was putting up the walls, but he wasn't going to let himself hide behind them the way he had before. He knew it would only blow up in his face. It had already happened twice.

He could still feel the anger inside, but he did his best to look past that. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but he had memories of Adam speaking words to him that filled him with the anger and other emotions that seemed to push towards the surface, but then would recede for a while, like waves on an ocean. He found it easier to hold those emotions back with his brothers all there, and being able to focus on other feelings, like the one he'd had when he found out that the most special gift that he'd received had come from his mother. It made him feel as if she were still close, just as Bobby had said. She was close, and watching, and that was something he had to hold onto. That sensation of having his mother near seemed to be stronger than anything left over from his experience with his father, and he had to make sure he didn't lose it.

Craig made sure to go to the living room when Jerry started talking about having to go. Bobby and Angel helped Jerry load the car with the gifts his family had acquired, and then there was hugging and well wishes passed around before Jerry and Camille bundled Daniela and Amelia up in their coats, and the new hats, scarves and mittens their Grandma Evie had made for them with her own hands.

Once Jerry and his family had left Angel asked Sofi if she was going to stay the night or go back to her Mama's. Sofi only smiled at him before making her way up the stairs. Angel turned and grinned at his brothers. "Do not disturb." He warned them all before running up the stairs after Sofi.

For the rest of the evening Bobby and Jack sat with Craig on the couch, playing the video games the men had been so thrilled about. Craig did enjoy the games, and he was pretty good at them too, but he could feel his fingers twitching at the thought of getting back to his sketch pad. He was pretty sure that Bobby would have let him, but he didn't ask. He decided to try to spend the remainder of the holiday listening to Bobby getting pissed at Jack for winning, and turning to the old standby fairy jokes to try to get the younger man flustered. Things felt as normal as they could at that moment, and Craig wanted to drink it in before the day ended.

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**_Subterfuge: an artifice or expedient used to evade a rule, escape a consequence, hide something, That to which one resorts for escape or concealment; an artifice employed to escape censure or the force of an argument, or to justify opinions or conduct; a shift; an evasion. _**

The banging on the door was driving a pain through the back of his skull. The pizza he'd ordered earlier that afternoon hadn't set right on his stomach, and the booze and pills seemed to be losing their desired effect on his pain. He sat up in the bed and reached up with the back of his hand to wipe at the sweat that was building on his face. He felt his body protested the movement, but the pounding on the door was persistent and wouldn't stop. It took a lot of effort to pull himself to his feet and shuffle across the floor to the door. He was fully dressed, still in his new used boots. He made it to the door, despite the tilt the room seemed to take on him. He leaned on the wall and pulled the door open as far as the security chain would allow it. "Yeah," He nearly growled the word.

"Mr. Jones, if you are going to stay another night I need some money." The manager of the motel was standing on the other side of the door.

"I'll give you your fuckin' money in the morning." He had to put extra effort into getting the words out, his voice crackled more than usual, and he could hear it. He was breathing hard from the effort he'd had to exert to make it to the door.

"No, you pay me now." The man on the other side of the door sounded pissed. "You told me this afternoon that you would pay me when you're fucking pizza was delivered, that didn't happen. You told me you'd pay me when I sent one of my employees up to the store to buy your cigarettes, and I still didn't see any of my money. Now, either you pay up or get out. I'd love a reason to call the cops." The balding head of the jerk was shining under the hallway light; the few black strands of hair that hung down nearly reached his neck and were slick from a lack of personal hygiene. His white t-shirt showed stains across the spare tire that protruded just above his belt.

He wanted nothing more than to put a gun to that man's head and pull the trigger. He didn't have his gun though. Hell, he didn't even have his fucking knife. He stared at the man through the gap, feeling his rage building. This ass hole didn't want to piss him off; he'd had a rough enough time without some ass hole demanding shit from him. He imagined himself wrapping his hands around the double chin of the fat bastard on the other side of the door and squeezing until he'd managed to crush his windpipe, if he could get enough pressure through the layers of fat that is.

He let his gaze rise to the man's eyes. He was staring back at him, trying to look mean. "This is your last chance Mr. Jones. I will call the police." He actually had the nerve to snarl at him.

"Fuck, just give me a minute." He knew he couldn't risk the cops being called, but having to comply with another man's demands burned at his rage. Just who the hell did this jerk think he was dealing with? He left the gap in the door while he turned to the dresser, where he had a roll of bills laying out. He'd left it there when he'd grabbed the money for his pizza and cigarettes. He pulled out what seemed to be a good amount and turned back to the door, "How much for the week?" He had to make an effort not to jerk the door open and start pounding on the man.

"I don't rent by the fuckin' week." The man actually spat when he hissed the words at him.

"Fine, here." He shoved a hundred through the gap. "Now shut the fuck up and leave me be." He slammed his hand on the door, forcing it shut with a loud crack.

"I said I don't rent by the fucking week!" The manager yelled from the other side of the door. Apparently he'd seen the amount of money he'd been handed.

"Fine, consider the rest a tip for such fucking good service!" He yelled back and turned to make his way back to the bed. Yeah, he was gonna have to teach that son of a bitch not to fuck with him. He was tired of people thinking they could disrespect him. He was Adam Macks, and he deserved some respect.

"Mr. Jones, I'll have your change and your receipt at the front desk when you check out in the morning, you need to be out by noon." Were the final words that came through the door before the sound of heavy stomping sounded out in the hall.

He laughed. "That's the fucking problem." He told himself as he eased his body back down on the bed. "Mr. Jones, you ain't earned the reputation yet. You gotta make a name for yourself. You gotta show that you are as fucking deserving as Mr. Macks." He was greatly amused at his sense of humor at that moment. He usually didn't have much of one, but hell, maybe Mr. Jones did. He laughed more as that thought ran through his mind. Yeah, it was going to be fun playing Jeff Jones for a while. Maybe Jeff Jones would have an easier time getting people to respect him. No one could throw past mistakes up in his face; Jeff Jones didn't have a past that he could screw up.

Hell, Jeff Jones didn't have a history or a life, he was starting fresh. He could make him whoever and whatever he wanted him to be. He stared at the ceiling, wiping away the sweat from time to time. Somewhere in between the gulps of whiskey and cigarettes his mind was coming up with the beginning of a plan; a plan that would get him back to Detroit, back to his business, but not so noticeable.

His hand reached up and rubbed against the growth on his face. He hadn't shaved in days. He never had been much for cleaning up his appearance, but maybe it was time for that to change. A good shave, a haircut, and maybe a little change in the color of his hair would be enough to make him unrecognizable. He could even change the color of his eyes; he'd seen other people do it with contacts. Hell, he could really work with this Jeff Jones, make him into the man he'd always wanted to be, and then take him to all the places that he'd already been. Who knew, maybe there was no reason for Adam Macks to return from the dead.

The fact that he had screwed up in his fevered state the day before and had made a stupid move by phoning the Mercer home could be worked around. He had to use more control now, he couldn't call, and he couldn't have Higgins check on the kid. He had to make sure no one suspected he was still living and breathing. He grinned as he reminded himself, Adam Macks no longer existed, he was Jeff Jones, and he was gonna make sure the people who screwed Adam Macks paid for it. Yeah, the Mercers would let their guard down after some time. They would let their guard down, and he would be right there when they did. It wasn't as if any of them had really gotten a good look at him, not that they were aware of anyway. He'd been watching them close and watching the kid. Craig was the only one who knew what he looked like, and he could control him. Even if they did have an idea what he looked like, they would never recognize him once he was done making himself into a whole new person. Jeff Jones.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks all for reading :)

Still don't own, still make no money

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**Chapter 3: Facing Life After Christmas**

Over the next couple of days it seemed all Craig did was eat, lay on the couch and draw, and sleep. Bobby took him upstairs at night, to sleep in his mother's bed, a routine that seemed to have become the norm. He only went into his own room get grab clean clothes before taking his shower. He missed his room, but at the same time he wasn't sure if he could handle trying to sleep in his own bed yet. For some reason, just stepping into the small room seemed to make him feel as if were suffocating. He didn't share that information with any of his brothers, he thought it would go away on its own, and then he would be able to return to feeling secure in there again. It had been his first real bedroom, his first safe place, and he missed it.

The beginning of the week was filled with doctor appointments. Angel had to go in for his arm Monday morning, Bobby had a follow up appointment for his ribs on Monday afternoon, and Jack had to go in on Tuesday to be sure he was healing up as he should be. Craig's own appointment wasn't until Wednesday.

For the most part Craig was allowed to lie on the couch and do what he wanted on Monday and Tuesday. Bobby took him up for his shower as soon as breakfast and his pills were taken care of, but after that he was told he could do what ever he wanted, watch T.V., draw, or even play one of his games if he chose to.

He spent most of Monday with Jack it seemed. Bobby and Angel left together to go to the hospital, and they were going to hang around there until after Bobby's appointment, they had been scheduled close enough together that they shouldn't have to wait too long, or so Bobby said.

With Bobby and Angel both out of the house, Craig felt a little less tense, and it didn't feel quite as crowded. Jack was in the dining room, working on a song on his guitar, and the television was turned off, for a change. Craig sat on the floor, his legs crossed under him Indian style, and he opened his old sketch pad up and let it rest on the coffee table. He thought about using one of his new pads, but he didn't want to taint their pages with the ugly memories that he was holding in. They had been a gift from Evelyn, and it felt wrong to dirty them up with what he needed to load onto the pages. He planned on filling the last of the pages in his old sketch pad with the visions that were haunting him in his mind, and then he could put them all behind him. He could give them to Bobby to put up and keep, just as Evelyn had taken his memories when he was younger and put them away for safe keeping.

He did use his new pencils. He'd found he liked the feel of them, and had been amazed at the level of depth he was able to achieve with them. He glanced up at Jack in the dining room, and the man was paying him no mind at all. He had been told he could do what he wanted with his time, but he needed to know that he had time to himself for this. He held the charcoal tip to the paper, but his mind didn't seem to be able to find one particular picture that it could focus on. They all seemed to be swirling around. He'd been holding them back until he could deal with them, and the time was perfect right then to face them, and try to figure them out, try to figure out the emotions that were pounding at him.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift a little. He didn't want to start with his father, he wanted to start with something else, but he wasn't sure exactly what. He did his best to keep Adam Macks from coming into focus, though the man's face tried to take over, tried to take control. That's what Adam did, he controlled. He controlled everyone around him. He liked the power, and he liked hurting people. He would find a reason to hurt a person just for the fun of it. He opened his eyes and the pencil started moving.

He couldn't stop Adam's face from taking shape in front of him, and though it took a little time for him to recognize the room that took form around Adam, he did eventually remember it. It was the room in the burned out house with the stair way, and the two dead bodies' lying only inches from him on the floor. The blade in Adam's hand and the control he was wielding seem to blur together and was overwhelming at that moment. He had given up and allowed the man to take the very last bit of hope that he'd been holding onto.

He could remember feeling as if he'd given the man his soul, the last part of himself, surrendering to what was inevitable. He felt anger burning deep inside of him. Where had his brothers been? They hadn't come for him, and it was easy to believe Adam when the man said that they had handed him over, that they didn't want him. He knew it was a lie, but at the same time if had felt as if his worst nightmare was coming true, and it had been too big, too strong for him to reason away or fight down. The emotions were pouring onto the paper as he remembered that moment, his father on top of him, and he was saying the words that he knew would keep him alive. As the pencil shaded in different areas the colors were starting to pop in the back of his mind. They were still there, lurking, ready to strike at any moment, and he was sure that as soon as he let his mind fall completely into the memories the colors would attack.

The sound of his father's voice seemed to echo in his head, though the words weren't comprehendible, they were there, and he knew their meaning. He belonged to Adam Macks and he always would.

"Craig?" Jack's voice pulled him out of the pit that he'd started to fall into.

He looked up to see Jack walking towards him from the dining room and quickly flipped the sketch pad closed. He found he was having a hard time pulling in air as the panic from the memories had taken over for a short time.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jack's voice sounded as if it were at the end of a long tunnel. He stopped on the other side of the table, looking down at him.

Craig nodded his head. "Yeah," He spoke quietly, though it was a lie. He felt rage burning in his gut. Rage at his father for what he'd done to him, and it was building at the thought of Jack interrupting his thoughts, stopping him from getting that rage out of his gut and onto the paper. He forced himself to take in a normal breath and let it out slowly.

He had to get himself to calm down. He couldn't let his emotions come out in the way he wanted to release them at that moment. He couldn't yell and scream and throw things. He couldn't let his brothers know how strong it was getting. He needed to be able to get it on paper; he would be fine if he could do that. He could face it if it was in front of him, and then he might even be able to talk to his brothers about it, but no yet, not like this.

"It's time to eat, and then you can take your pills." Jack didn't look as if he believed him. "If you want to talk, you know we can talk any time."

Craig shook his head slowly. He couldn't tell Jack that talking was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted some time to himself, a chance to get it out of his head so he could figure it out. No one else could understand that, not even Jack. He knew Jack had gone through similar things, but it wasn't the same. This was different. It was more than what Adam had done to him when he'd had him in that bed, or in the pitch black of the basement room. It was the control, it was the words that had been spoken; the feeling of knowing the man had been lying, and yet feeling as if it were all true. It was the colors bombarding him from all directions, the dizzying designs that they seemed to make; the noises that came with them and the feeling of being so detached from anything real; the feeling that he wasn't real.

He held it in, and managed to follow Jack's directions as far as eating and taking his pills. He still wanted to draw, but Jack wasn't leaving him alone after that. He stayed in the living room and suggested that Craig lie back on the couch and take a nap. Craig wanted to argue, he wanted to tell Jack to leave him alone for just a little while and he would be fine, but he couldn't say it to him. He did fall asleep, and when he woke Bobby and Angel were back. He could tell Jack had told Bobby about the short episode he'd experience in their absence, but no one mentioned it to him. Bobby put his sketch pad up and told him he was sure he'd drawn enough for one day.

The rest of the day he was stuck on the couch watching his brothers flip through the channels on the television, and with each passing minute he felt just a little more pissed at them all for not letting him get the memories out of his head. He was thankful when it came time to go to bed; it seemed to transform his anger into a need to know that Bobby was close to him. He preferred needing Bobby's comfort than feeling so pissed at him. The nightmares tried to invade his sleep, but Bobby seemed to be able to sense them when they started and he'd wake the boy enough to keep him from falling too deeply into them.

On Tuesday morning Craig asked if he could spend some time upstairs, in Evelyn's bed rather than staying in the living room. Bobby said no to that idea without letting Craig explain why. Craig only asked for an hour to himself. He needed the quiet, and the chance to really concentrate on his sketching, to empty some of those nightmares out of his head. Bobby refusing to let him have that, even just for an hour, seemed dig at the anger that he'd been holding back on. He wanted the chance to think about what had happened with Adam while he was alone; it was too hard to think about it with a brother constantly trying to talk to him, or asking if he wanted to play a game, or the television blaring out noise.

He needed to get it down on paper, and in order to do that he had be able to lose himself in it for a little while. If he tried to draw with his brothers around he wouldn't be able to let it take over long enough to get it out where he could face it. He had tried it the day before, and Jack had been concerned, had wanted him to talk instead of just leaving him be long enough to accomplish anything. It wouldn't work if he wasn't able to immerse himself completely into it. He knew that. It was frightening, but he had to do it on his own.

No one else knew just how awful his father could be. They had no way of understanding what it had been like just feeling the man's breath on him. How could he explain that, or how he'd given himself up to him? There was no way he could make them understand, and he didn't want to try, not until he understood it himself. He wanted to deal with it his own way, at least for now. He'd promised himself he was going to deal with it. He wasn't going to hide from it or put the walls up and try to hold in it, not forever anyway. He just needed the time sort out all the different feelings he was struggling against, and his brothers weren't making it easy for him.

Instead of giving him some space, Bobby did the exact opposite as soon as Angel had Jack out the door. He turned off the television and sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Is there anything you need to talk about? You seem to be okay on the surface, but there's something going on in that head of yours, and it's like your hiding from it. I can't let you do that. We all know what happens when you hide from things, don't we?" He kept his voice quiet.

Craig felt his gut twist up on him. He didn't want to talk yet, he wasn't ready. "I'm fine." He muttered and turned away from Bobby, suddenly wishing the T.V. was on so he had something to focus on other than the feel of Bobby's stare.

"Come on, you know you can talk to me. We've been through this before and you feel better after you talk, don't you?" Bobby pushed.

"Leave it alone Bobby." Craig couldn't keep the strain out of his voice as he spoke the words.

"No, I won't leave it alone. I let it go for Christmas, and I gave you some time to get yourself settled, but I ain't gonna let it go." Bobby leaned over towards him and reached across the couch to pat lightly on Craig's arm. "Look at me." He sounded calm, but he was being the usual hard headed Bobby.

Craig looked over at his brother, and tried to hold in the emotions that were churning around inside of him. "I don't want to talk. Not yet." He muttered.

"You think you're gonna be able to draw it all out in your books and be able to forget it? You can't do that. It might have worked when you were little, but it ain't gonna work now. You're older. You understand it more now than you did when you were little." Bobby kept his stare fixed on the boy.

"I don't want to talk about it." Craig repeated. "Not yet. I will when I'm ready." He let his body fall back into the cushions of the couch. "God, why can't you just leave me alone?" He didn't mean to let the last part come out in real words.

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "You still feeling pissed at me?" He asked.

Craig turned his head towards the Christmas tree and swallowed hard. Bobby was pushing him, and he wasn't ready to be pushed. "I don't know what I feel right now." He spoke the words more to shut Bobby up than anything else, though it was the truth. "I just need some time to figure it out." He turned back towards Bobby, "And I can't figure it out with everyone always crowding me. I need some time alone, and yeah, I'd like to have my sketch pad with me. You got no right telling me how I have to deal with it. I need to deal with it my own way." He heard the tension coming through with each word, and he could see Bobby's jaw tighten up.

"You ain't gonna go off by yourself and get so worked up that you end up in worse shape than you are now." Bobby shook his head.

"Jack told you about yesterday." Craig commented; feeling a little irritated that Jack had gone to Bobby, though he'd already known that he had.

"Yeah, he did, it had him worried. You were so into what you were drawing that you were gasping for air. You scared him. It would have scared me." Bobby shook his head. "I ain't gonna let you do that to yourself. If I have to put the sketching crap up for a while I will, you ain't gonna use that to hide from what Macks did to you. I won't let you."

Craig could feel his resolve cracking. "It's none of your business." He spoke the words a little too loud, with a little too much sarcasm. "You weren't there. You don't know what he did or what he said. You have no idea what he made me do, and I will deal with it my own way. You need to butt out and leave me alone." He regretted the words as he spoke them, but he couldn't stop his mouth from moving.

Bobby slid across the couch almost instantly, turning the boy so that he had to look at him. "I may not have been there, but I was busting my ribs trying to get to you. We did everything we could to get to you, do you understand that?" He spoke the words quickly.

Craig didn't answer, yes he understood it, but at the same time he didn't. He didn't have any idea how he'd ended up with Adam Macks to begin with. He had memories, but not all of them made sense. Maybe if someone explained some things to him he could understand better, but he didn't know what questions to ask. He needed time to work through the pictures in his head, and sort through them so that he could understand more.

"I'll tell you right now, I sure as hell ain't gonna let you deal with it your own way. Your way usually ends up with you hiding away in a shell until you explode. If you need to yell, or hit a wall, that's fine, you go ahead and do it, but don't you dare tell me to butt out. I'm your brother, and I care too much to back off and let you hole everything up inside yourself."

Craig could feel the tears trying to build, and the hurt was starting to overpower the anger. "I can't Bobby, not yet." His voice sounded a little weak that time. "I can't explain it, but I can't yet." He felt as if he were begging the man not to push him. If Bobby kept pushing he was going to lose all control and he wasn't sure what would happen; that thought terrified him. He had no way of explaining that to his brother, because he couldn't explain it to himself.

Bobby stared at him for what seemed forever before nodding his head. "Okay." He drew in a deep breath. "I'll be watching you though. I know drawing helps Craig and I don't want to take that away from you, but it's not a cure for how you're feeling, you know that right? You know that you can't just get the memories out of your head and hide from them. You're gonna to have to face what the hell happened and you gotta talk about it. You're my kid brother, and I love you."

Craig nodded his head slowly. "I love you too." He muttered. He was thankful it seemed his brother was going to let it be, at least for now. He could feel the emotions that had been boiling up to the surface start to fall back to the where he could keep them under control. He suddenly felt vulnerable, and lost, and it felt familiar to him, though he hated it. He wanted Bobby to make the feelings go away.

He wanted to lean over and hold onto his brother so that he could feel safe, but he didn't do it. A voice inside his head told him he needed to stop hiding behind Bobby's protection. Bobby wouldn't always be there for him, and he needed to learn how to take care of himself. He felt his body lean away from Bobby instead of towards him. "Can I draw for a while?" He asked, his voice came out void of emotion and he was glad for that much.

Bobby looked a little surprised. "Okay." He sat back away from the boy. "You can draw." He nodded his head. "Just remember what I said." He added.

Craig nodded his head and snatched his sketch pad off the coffee table. He didn't say a word as he turned to keep the pages out of Bobby's line of sight when he opened up the book. He acted like he didn't notice when Bobby stood and walked through the house to the kitchen. He let out a sigh of relief that he was finally alone, even if it was just for a little while. He knew he had to watch himself, and not let his brain take over too much, but he had to take advantage of the chance to draw while there was a little quiet in the house.

He didn't pay too much attention to what he was drawing as it came out. He would glance at each sketch for a moment, and try to figure it out once it was done before moving onto the next memory pushing its way out. The first one was Jordan's face hovering over him in the dark, colors spiraling around him; the pastels brought the colors back to him vivid and clear. Two dead bodies lying in blood, the memory brought the smell back to him so strong it seemed to hang in the air around him. The next image that his mind pushed to the surface was that of being under water, looking up at the distorted features of Adam Macks' face swirling around in circles above him, holding him under, yelling words that he couldn't make out. He could feel the water being sucked into his lungs as he unloaded the image onto the paper. He could feel the life draining out of him, just as he'd felt Adam taking his soul from him while he carved into his chest.

There were more that came, and he managed to get them onto the pages of his sketch pad, but he didn't let himself fall into them the way he had the day before, he didn't let himself get lost in them and feel them the way he had when he was under Jack's watch. He couldn't let Bobby catch him doing that.

He had to make sure his brother didn't catch him living the memories out in his mind; he'd already made it clear that it wouldn't go over very well. He would have to be more careful to hide what he was thinking and feeling, at least until he could understand it better and deal with it. Until then he needed to make sure Bobby wasn't aware of how he was dealing with it. He would have to reinforce the walls that he had up, and make sure not to slip up. It was becoming more important for him to hold it in.

Everything seemed much harder now than it had on Christmas. On Christmas he'd been able to promise himself that he wouldn't put up the walls, and he had meant it. He wanted to deal with it all, but now the safety and security that he'd felt that day weren't as strong. He'd been able to hide behind Christmas and the familiar sensations of being safe and belonging. He'd been able to push everything else back and soak in the moment, letting himself feel close to his family.

Now it wasn't so easy. Life was moving on, past that one safe day, and he wasn't so sure now that he could keep his promise to himself. The confused memories were coming back stronger, overpowering that feeling of belonging, of being good enough to be one of Evelyn Mercer's sons. He couldn't feel his mother near him, though he was trying to sense something of her.

He looked up at the Christmas tree. The lights weren't on, and it seemed a sad sight to him now. He drew in a deep breath, hoping to get a hint of his mother's perfume, but there was nothing. He felt loneliness grab at his heart. He turned back to his sketch pad and tried to focus on what he was drawing. He had let his mind wonder away from the memories of Adam and the things the man had done to him, just for a few moments, and now it seemed he couldn't get back to it. That was fine with him. He preferred right then to keep it just below the surface where he didn't have to face it. He flipped the page over as his mind brought in pictures of what his heart was aching for. He found the form of his mother taking shape in front of him, and as he let it out he felt the tears sliding down his cheek. It wasn't a heavy stream of tears, just a few, enough that he felt as if he had other emotions inside still, something more than fear and anger and confusion. Yeah, he was going to have to keep the walls up for a while longer, he couldn't deal with any of it just yet.


	4. Chapter 4

As always, let me know what you think :) and thanks for reading!

Don't own, make no money.

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**Chapter 4: Mr. Jones**

Adam Macks stepped up to the enclosed front desk of the motel, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He dropped his room key into the drawer sticking out in the center of the counter, following the directions of the sign posted above it. He didn't have to say a word when the manager took notice of him. The fat bastard came to the counter immediately and shoved a receipt and change through the hole in the bottom of the security glass separating them, pulling a handle on his side to bring the drawer into the safety of his enclosure where he snatched up the keys as if they were in danger of disappearing. Macks gave the man one of his most pleasant smiles. "Sir, I do owe you an apology." He forced his voice to take on a regretful tone. "I've been ill, and I have not been at my best. For that I do apologize." He scooped up his money and receipt and stuffed them into his pants pocket.

The manager didn't smile back. He grumbled some words under his breath that Macks couldn't make out through the glass, and then took a direct aim at the man with his stare. "Don't come back here Mr. Jones." He warned him. "You are not welcome in this establishment." He turned his back on him and walked out of sight through a doorway in the back of his little enclosed room.

Macks stood in his spot and stared at the doorway, thinking to himself all the different ways he would teach this ass hole a lesson when he returned, and he would return. No one kept him out if he wanted in bad enough.

He finally turned and crossed the short expanse of the small lobby to exit the single glass door, hitting the streets during the early lunch crunch. He wasn't one hundred percent certain of where he was at that moment. He knew he'd been to a clinic to get the medical attention he needed, and he knew that had been in Illinois, but he was almost sure that he'd crossed back over into Indiana at some point before getting the motel room. He knew that he'd picked up his new phone somewhere between the clinic and the motel, but he'd been feverish, and drugged, and his mind hadn't kept too many of those minor details intact. He did remember the important shit though. He remembered that he hadn't been able to make contact with Jordan, and Jessup hadn't pick up either. He'd spoken with Higgins, and yeah, he'd made the stupid ass move of calling the Mercer house.

It was okay though, he had some ideas rolling around in his head. He had to get his ass back to that clinic though, and get some more shit for the pain, something stronger this time. He'd showered before he gone down to check out of the motel. He was wearing clean clothes. If it hadn't been for the fucking injury from the bullet he'd taken he would have been feeling pretty damn good. He had gotten away, and no one seemed to be following him. Why would they follow him though? Jeff Jones was a good, upstanding citizen. He was a construction worker who was going to need a job, and a place to stay. He was down on his luck, had lost his family, and had been drifting for a few months now, struck down with grief. Hell, he was amazing even himself with what he could come up with. Jeff Jones was a blank page and he could give him any history that was convenient.

He walked to the interstate and hitched a ride from there. He was surprised that people still stopped for hitch hikers. Hell, didn't these idiots know there were maniacs out there? Killers just itching to draw blood, and they were chancing their own lives by letting them get into their car. He was amused by that thought. Hell, he was able to get two rides in under an hour, and he was sure that if either of the drivers had suspected the shit he'd been involved with in just the past few days they would have run him down right there on the pavement.

Riding with the poor fools gave him the chance to play with the Jeff Jones thing a little. Yeah, the first driver, a young college student, felt awful for the man. Jeff Jones had lost his family in a fire, and he'd been so distraught that he'd taken to the road in an attempt to escape his grief.

The other driver, a middle aged factory worker heard how Jeff Jones had been in the military and had sustained some very debilitating injuries, leaving him unable to work, and he roamed from town to town trying to pick up odd jobs that would pay under the table. The tragedy had lost him his wife and son. She had left him for some rich ass hole; she had taken the boy and he wasn't allowed to see him. He was proud of the shit he was able to come up with on the spur of the moment.

Though he had ventured back into Indiana he hadn't been far from Illinois and the free clinic where he'd made contact with his old acquaintance just a few nights before. He managed to get there in good time, even when he had to walk part of the last mile on his own. Not that the Doctor was happy to see him standing outside his back door in broad daylight. He wasn't happy at all. He'd ushered him inside and bitched about having to explain him to the nurses and aids that volunteered their time there.

He didn't take him to an examination room; he pulled him into what looked to be some kind of office. He shut the door and locked it before bothering to check on his work from Friday night. He cleaned the wounds in the front and back, and put fresh dressing on each before giving him more antibiotics. Macks demanded more pain pills, and the man tried to give him the same shit he'd given him his first visit. When Macks insisted on something stronger the doctor hesitated, but complied once a few big bills were waved under his nose. The guy was no saint and Macks knew that. He'd dealt with him before. He always came through if enough money was offered.

"I need to make some changes, who can I see for that?" Macks asked the medical expert standing in front of him.

"What kind of changes?" The doctor was going through some drawers, finding pill samples to hand over.

"I need to change my hair, my eyes maybe." Adam took the pills from the man and stowed them in his backpack.

The doctor looked at Macks and nodded his head. "I know someone who can help you out. His name is Sammy."

Macks smiled, he knew this town was the best place to lay low and get his shit together. He could stick around the area for a few days, maybe a week, and then he could get back to business. He would be able to get himself healed up enough, make some changes, and get what he needed. He was going to need more money, and a gun, but that would come next. Jeff Jones would get the money; Jeff Jones would get the gun. Adam Macks was soon to be history.

The doctor gave Sammy a call and talked to him about sending a potential client over, and the man was thrilled. He didn't ask questions, and that went over well with Macks. No questions, no need to kill the man once it was over. Sammy didn't want him coming over until after he closed his Salon for the day, so any time after five o'clock was fine. The doc' wrote the address and brief directions down on a piece of paper and handed it to Macks before bidding him farewell.

Adam had things to do to kill some time before he headed to Sammy's. He had to get some food, and find room for the night. He found a little diner and ate a decent meal. He asked the cute little waitress about a cheap place to rent a room for the night, and she was glad to offer a suggestion. He got himself settled into his room and then took off on foot to find Sammy's place. He decided his next order of business would be to find a car.

When he knocked on the back door of the hair salon he hadn't expected what he found as the door opened. Sammy was about five foot three, his hair grown down to his shoulders, styled and streaked with pink and purple dye. He wore pink lipstick and eyeliner, and was dressed in a floral print blouse and black slacks. Macks had to take a second look to be sure Sammy was a guy and not a woman. Not the image of someone working on the wrong side of the law that Macks had in the back of his head, but hell, he wasn't one to judge a person. So long as Sammy didn't ask questions or cause any trouble, then more power to him. Who was he to judge? He had some of own eccentricities.

Sammy it turned out was a drag queen who was very talented at making changes to a person's appearance that could baffle the sharpest eye. Macks felt cautious at first, the man wanted to shave him, and shape up his eyebrows. He told Sammy he could shave himself, and he thought the eyebrow thing was a little extreme. Sammy handed him the razor and let him shave, but insisted that his eyebrows needed to be shaped. "You would be surprised at how changing just a small detail like that can change the whole shape of the face." He spoke with a soft, almost feminine voice. "Trust me; I know what the fuck I'm doing. If you want to change who you are, you need to let me make the changes. I'm an artist, you know."

Macks had never been one to take kindly to being pressured, but he gave in and let Sammy have total and complete control over what was to be done to his appearance. He had to be unrecognizable to anyone who knew him. He needed to be able to get back into Detroit without being spotted. It was the only way he was going to get close enough to the people who had screwed him over.

He hadn't planned on being cooped up with Sammy half the night, but hours passed as the man cut his hair, colored it a deep chocolate brown, added hair extensions to fill in the balding gaps, and then gave it a style that was worthy of Jessup Winston's high class approval. Sammy introduced the man to a large elastic band be pulled put around his hair line, tugging at the skin on his face, pulling back the excess, effectively removing the wrinkles around his eyes and giving some tone to the loose skin around his jaw. The band was hidden in the line of his hair.

Macks was impressed, and he told Sammy he was very happy with what he'd done. He was ready to get out of there and get onto making more arrangements. Sammy however wasn't finished. He dyed the eyebrows that he'd so carefully shaped up, and then showed the fugitive how to put in contacts. The lenses he was given changed his brown eyes to a deep blue shade. Just when Macks thought the man couldn't find any more flaws in his appearance to correct, Sammy came out with a set of teeth. Straight white teeth that fit into his mouth as if they were made for him because of the soft gel-like gums that his real teeth could sink into. He thought it was a bit dramatic when Sammy refused to let him look at himself in the mirror. He had been sitting with his back to his own reflection and Sammy had to spin the salon chair around as if he were revealing some kind of surprise to him. Macks was about to bitch about the show of drama, but once he was facing the mirror he was struck dumb. The man staring back at him was a complete stranger. It took a moment for it to sink in completely, and a slow smile crept across his mouth. "Mr. Jones." He spoke quietly.

* * *

Bobby was still in the kitchen when Angel and Jack got back to the house. He looked up when both men walked into the kitchen. Jack held a prescription bag in his hands and walked straight over to the table and sat down.

"So what did the doctor say?" Bobby asked from his own seat across from Jack.

"I'm doing fine. He put me on some more antibiotics and pain pills, but I'm doing fine." Jack shook his head.

Angel leaned up against the counter and crossed his arms in front of him. "So did you talk to Craig like you said?" He asked.

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "I tried, but he didn't want to talk." He kept his voice quiet.

"What, you just let it go?" Jack looked surprised.

"For now, yeah, I let it go." Bobby looked at Jack. "He knows he can talk to us. He told me he wasn't ready. He didn't try to tell me he was fine, or that he was handling it okay, he just said he wasn't ready yet."

"Bobby, you know he ain't gonna say shit to you unless you push him." Angel commented.

"I'm gonna give him another day or so. He goes to the doctor tomorrow, and once I'm sure he's doin' okay with his head and chest healing up right, then yeah, I'll push him a little more. He's got other things that have to heal." Bobby defended his actions with quick words.

"You pussied out, didn't you?" Jack's face was blank of emotion. "He's gonna lock it up inside and hold it in Bobby and you are just gonna let him." His voice was barely audible.

"No, I'm not gonna let him. I'm just giving him a couple more days Jack." Bobby spoke quickly. "This is different than before, you know that."

"How is it different?" Jack sounded as if he were growing angry.

"The man is his father, his biological father, and he's got memories from when he was little living with this sack of shit. Then to top it off, I swore to him no one else would ever do anything to hurt him again, and I wasn't able to stop it. He's gotta have problems trusting me right now, hell, I have problems trying to make him any promises right now. How the hell am I supposed to make him feel any better if I can't come through on my promise to keep him safe? I tried to stand by Ma's rule, promises kept, and it didn't fuckin' work." He managed to keep his voice quiet, though it was coming out strained.

"You're blaming yourself?" Jack actually laughed. "Oh my God, here we go again ladies and gentlemen, the rollercoaster ride of blame." He turned slightly and looked at Angel, "You up for another one of those?" He asked.

Angel laughed quietly, and reached up to cover his mouth in an attempt to hide it from Bobby.

"I'm not blaming myself for shit. I'm just wondering how in the hell I can tell him it won't happen again if I couldn't stop it from happening once already." Bobby tried to defend himself, but it didn't come out the way he intended, and he knew that the second he'd spoken. "I mean as far as he'd concerned. How can I expect him to trust me to keep that promise if he thinks I failed once already?"

Angel drew in a deep breath. "Did he say he blamed you or that he didn't trust you?" He asked quickly, suddenly concerned about what might have been said in his and Jack's absence.

"No, he didn't say that." Bobby sat back in his chair and looked at Angel, then down to Jack. "He's pissed at me though, ain't he?"

"Yeah, Bobby, he's gonna be pissed at everybody for a while. He's not really pissed at you, he's just pissed." Jack leaned forward in his own chair, as if to counter balance Bobby's act of leaning back. "Unless we get him to start talking he's just gonna hold it in and it's gonna build up. It'll fester inside of him like a fucking boil, and it will eat him up. He might not explode like he did before, but he'll change. I don't want to see him change and end up like I was, or like you were when you were younger, or Angel or even Jerry. I kind of like the idea of having a brother who ain't a fucking hard ass. He's had a chance to be real kid, something none of us had, and we can't let that son of a bitch take that away from him. That would feel too much like cheating Mom out of all her hard work."

Bobby opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but stopped, a confused expression spreading across his face. "What the hell is wrong with being a hard ass? It's come in pretty fucking handy at times, and you know it." He sounded as if he felt that Jack had insulted him.

Jack stared at Bobby for a second, taken off guard by the man's change of subject. "That's not what I meant; I'm just trying to say that…"

"You like hard ass anyway Jack, admit it." The corners of Bobby's mouth turned up and twitched slightly.

"Don't start Bobby." Jack warned.

"What? I didn't say a thing." Bobby held both hands up as if he were surrendering. "It's just that, well, you're the one who brought up the hard ass shit Jack."

"Fuck you Bobby, that's not what I was saying, and you can't turn that around on me." Jack managed to keep his voice quiet, though his cheeks were turning bright red.

"Jack, I've told you too many times to count, this Mercer don't swing that way." Bobby's lips finally broke into a grin.

Jack started to open his mouth, but Angel's quiet laughing drifted over from the counter.

"Jackie, seriously, don't worry, I will talk to him. I got what the fuck you're sayin' okay? I won't let it go too long, but today wasn't the day, I could feel it." Bobby leaned forward and spoke the words calmly to Jack. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna let him turn cold inside, that's the last thing I'm gonna do." He shook his head. "Sorry about the jokes, but I had to lighten it up in here a little, it was getting way too fucking serious and I can't handle that right now, okay?" He let a hand reach across the table and pat Jack's arm lightly.

Jack nodded his head. "Okay, sorry." He muttered.

"He goes to see the doctor in the morning, after I'm sure he's doing good in other ways, then we'll go on from there." Bobby sat back in his chair again. "Now, who wants to make lunch?" He looked up at Angel and smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry it's late, I had to work over tonight. It may be this way for a few days, but I will do my best to get a chapter up tomorrow :) As always, let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading!

Don't own, make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Midnight Mission**

Jack had just gotten himself settled into bed. Bobby had taken Craig up to bed over an hour earlier. Angel and Sofi had been in the living room, sitting close on the couch. At first they had been only been snuggling together, but then there was touching, and then there was a little hugging, and before Jack knew it they were going at it hot and heavy. Jack had excused himself and retreated to the dining room to escape the show. They finally went upstairs, and Jack had sat in the bed, working on one of his songs for nearly another hour before turning out the light and getting into bed. Once he was in the bed he couldn't get the Angel and Sofi show out of his mind. It had been a little traumatic for him, realizing that Angel was truly planning on spending the rest of his life with Sofi.

Jack loved women, but how Angel and Sofi could go on and on like that in front of other people drove him crazy. He'd had a few steady ladies, but he'd never had to have them that close so many hours of the day. He preferred the short term relationships, that way he could sample as much of the merchandise as was possible. He knew there would come a day when he settled down with one person, and he wanted to make sure that when that day came there would be no regrets, no wondering about having met the right girl already and let her get away, no worrying that he'd settled for the wrong woman.

He had managed to get the vision out of his head, clear his thoughts of his brother and Sofi, and was close to falling asleep. He didn't hear the soft footsteps on the floor, and he wasn't expecting the hand to rest on his arm. The feel of someone's touch triggered his defenses and he quickly rolled over, shoving his left arm straight out in the direction of whoever was looming in the dark room. His hand struck flesh and Angel's howl filled the room as Jack sat up, reaching for the empty beer bottle on the shelf next to his bed.

"Angel?" Jack asked, surprise quickly replacing the fear that had initially wrapped around him.

"Damn Jack, what the fuck?" Angel's words sounded muffled and sounds of heavy feet stumbling around in the room seemed to mix with his words.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack asked as the dining room light clicked on, blinding both of them for a moment. He managed to set the bottle back on the shelf.

"I need your help." Angel spoke from the doorway, next to the light switch, his right hand covering his nose, "What the hell you tryin' to do, break my nose?"

"You could have let me know you were there." Jack muttered, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment and then opening them. He took a long look at Angel. The man was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt and a black hooded sweatshirt. "What are you up to?" He asked warily, he knew this couldn't be good.

"I need your help. I'm going down to that school and getting rid of that picture of Sofi." Angel eased his hand away from his nose and then fingered it gingerly. "Damn near broke my nose." He mumbled.

"I am not going out at this time of night." Jack shook his head. "It's almost midnight."

"You don't gotta do nothin' but sit in the car and hold onto the ladder on the roof." Angel shook his head.

"What?" Jack cried out louder than he intended to.

"Shut up Jack, you'll bring Bobby runnin' down here like a fool. I need to get a ladder up there, and I need you to sit on the passenger's side, stick your arm out the window and hold the ladder steady on the roof of the car."

"Hell no," Jack laughed as he shook his head.

"Twenty bucks if you'll do it." Angel didn't try to argue first, he went straight to the money strategy.

"A hundred," Jack looked skeptical.

Angel rolled his eyes, "Thirty five." He countered.

"Seventy five and we stop to buy a pack of smokes." Jack's eyes narrowed down, the dare obvious in his stare.

"Fifty and no smokes, you don't need to start that up again." Angel crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he wouldn't budge any on the conditions.

"Fifty and we stop for the smokes. I'm a big boy, and want a damn cigarette." Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and started to get up to find some clothes. "That's my final offer." He gave Angel a serious gaze.

Angel scowled for a long moment. "Fine, but you don't tell anyone I'm the one that took you for smokes." He warned.

"You gotta deal." Jack grinned at Angel.

"Okay, you get dressed, and I'll load up the trunk." Angel nodded his head. "I got paint thinner and a bucket with some rags and a scrub brush all stashed in the bushes out back. I'll get the ladder too."

Jack grabbed a black t-shirt off a pile of clothes stacked up at the foot of the bed and was about to put it on when he stopped and looked at Angel who was about to walk away. "Wait a minute; we're taking Bobby's car? How did you get the keys?" He asked, surprised that Bobby would hand his keys over to Angel without questioning him for a reason.

Angel grinned. "I got him the car; you really think I didn't keep a spare key for myself?" He turned and walked on through the kitchen to the back door.

Jack sighed as he continued to dress. He had a strange feeling he'd regret agreeing to this little adventure. He was dressed and had his coat on minutes later. He walked out the back door to find Angel putting an extension ladder on the top of Bobby's car. The man had thought enough ahead of time to put a blanket on the metal roof first. He had some rope, and he was partially tying the ladder in place by knotting one end off on the ladder, running the length of the line through the back windows and tying the other end to the other side of the oversized load.

"You think that's gonna work?" Jack kept his voice quiet as he approached the car.

"No, that's why I want you to hold onto the front part of the bitch." Angel laughed. "You just need to stick your arm out the window and up to the top of the car. I'll make sure you can reach the ladder. Get in and I'll fix it right."

Jack hesitated for short moment, thinking that maybe he'd better back out of this deal, but then remembered how much he wanted a cigarette. He got into the front passenger's seat and rolled the window down. He pulled his gloves out of his jacket pocket and put them on quickly, knowing this ride might be relatively short, but it was gonna be cold.

Angel positioned the ladder just right so that Jack could hold onto the metal frame with his hand, and within minutes they were driving down the street towards the school.

Ten minutes later Jack was standing next to the ladder, watching Angel climbing it in the cold night. He was taking the rope he'd used for securing the ladder up with him as he rose up towards the second story ledge. There was enough light filtering across the side of the building from the street to illuminate the painting that had been so carefully added to the bricks by their youngest brother. Jack made sure the bucket was full of the supplies that Angel needed and when Angel dropped an end of the rope down he tied it to the bucket handle.

Once Angel had his supplies on the ledge with him Jack got back into the car, out of the cold air. He started the engine and let it idle so he could run the heater. He turned on the radio and found a good song that his fingers could drum the dash to.

He was actually enjoying himself for a while, until his bladder started to ache. He turned the radio down and climbed out of the car to find a corner somewhere to piss. He looked up at Angel as he passed under him, to check his progress. The paint was smeared in all different directions, and the form that had once been Sofi was no longer. It was now an odd mixture of browns and creams with a few black streaks running here and there. He chuckled to himself, wishing he could see Angel, but the angle of the ledge hid his brother out of sight. He stopped, facing the brick wall of the school and started to unfasten his pants so that he could take a quick piss.

"Fuck!" Angel's voice echoed into the night above Jack, and only a second later a rain of paint soaked rags proceeded to smack him in the head and shoulders. The smell of paint thinner overwhelmed him, and the feel of partially dissolved paint ran down his face and the back of his neck. His first thought was his leather jacket. He started pulling out of it almost the instant he was struck, sure that it was ruined. As soon as the jacket was off, the bucket hit the ground next to him, splattering its wet contents on the young man. Jack squeezed his eyes closed and blew air out of his mouth to try to clear the paint thinner away from his face.

The sound of the boots hitting the metal rungs of the ladder told Jack which direction to turn so that he'd be able to see Angel when and if he was able to open his eyes.

"Whew!" Angel's voice sounded a little out of breath, but Jack could tell he was on the ground.

Jack used the back of his left hand to try to wipe any excess paint drippings from around his eyes, and then opened them cautiously. Angel had his back to him, and was looking towards the car. "Jack?" He called out.

Jack carefully cleared his throat, eyeing Angel while he tried to think of all the ways he could hurt his brother at that moment.

Angel went completely still at the sound to his back, and then turned slowly to face the younger man. Jack wanted to scream at Angel at that moment, but as soon as he could see Angel's face and the front of his clothes he was at a loss for any words or thoughts. Angel was covered just as badly as he was. How he had managed to end up wearing as much of the paint and thinner that Jack had just had dropped on him was a puzzle that probably would never be solved.

Both men stared at each other for a long moment before Jack finally drew in a deep breath and spoke quietly through grinding teeth. "I want my fucking cigarettes."

* * *

Craig struggled through his sleep Tuesday night, fighting off images of Adam Macks, and the feel of the man handling him. The visions were accompanied by the man's voice telling him he was no longer a Mercer, that his brothers didn't want him, had never wanted him and they were glad to be rid of him. Jordan's face melded together with Macks' features, and somehow they blended into Bobby. He begged Bobby to make them stop, but the man only laughed at him, and the sound of it drove through his chest like a steak through his heart.

He would come around enough to hear Bobby's voice telling him it was only a bad dream, that he was fine and he was home where he was safe; but the conflicting messages that his mind was sending him only seemed to amplify the nightmare, warp it into more before it withdrew for a short time. Then it would start all over again. It seemed to go on all night, and he was feeling tired and grumpy and agitated when Bobby woke him at eight o'clock to go downstairs for breakfast. He didn't want to get up, and he didn't want to eat. He told Bobby he needed ten more minutes, but the man didn't seem to be in such a great mood himself. Craig rolled over to put his back to the room, and Bobby simply grabbed his arms and pulled him out of the bed.

"You gotta be at the doctor's office by ten; that gives you an hour and a half to eat, get yourself a shower and get dressed. Now get moving." Bobby pulled the door open and stood there holding onto it while watching the fourteen year old.

"Ten lousy minutes is going to make that much of a difference? I'll be waiting for ten minutes before I even get to eat." Craig complained while rubbing his scratchy eyes with his hands for a few moments. He let his arms drop next to him, his muscles feeling heavy.

"Don't start the crap this early Craig." Bobby shook his head. "You get your butt downstairs."

Craig felt his feet stomp on the floor as he moved towards the door. Bobby's hand reached out and took an easy hold on his arm. "You calm yourself down, right now." The man pulled him to a stop. "I'm not putting up with the attitude. You got something you want to say to me, you can say it, but we ain't playin' games here." He kept his voice calm.

Craig drew in a deep breath but didn't say anything. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and pull the blankets up over his head, forgetting the rest of the world for a while.

"Now, you walk down those stairs like you are a civilized person and not some monkey stompin' your feet." Bobby let go of his arm.

Craig walked with careful steps, making his way down the stairs with Bobby right behind him.

Bobby moved past him once they reached the kitchen, "You can eat a bowl of cereal." He walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a bowl, then motioned to the other cupboard where the cereal was kept. "Get out what you want." He set the bowl on the counter and moved to the refrigerator to get the milk.

"I don't want cereal." Craig muttered, unable to keep his agitation out of his voice.

Bobby turned and looked at him. He seemed to be remembering that Craig had told him not too long ago he had no problem eating cereal every day, he'd done it before, and actually liked it. "Well what do you want then?" He sighed.

Craig shrugged his shoulders without making a move for the cupboard. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so damn cranky right then, but it seemed everything Bobby did was wearing on his nerves.

"You gonna tell me what you want or are you gonna settle for the cereal?" Bobby asked, still holding the refrigerator door open.

Craig shrugged his shoulders again, not sure what he wanted, but certain he didn't want the cereal.

"You want toast?" Bobby spoke a little louder than he needed to.

Craig shook his head.

"You want eggs?" Bobby tried, looking as if he were struggling to hold his own aggravation at bay.

Again Craig shook his head.

"You want me to lose my patience here? Cause I'm getting real close to it. First of all, you don't give me the silent treatment; second, you can stop acting like a small child who is pissed because he can't have his way. Since it's obvious nothing is going to be good enough for you, you get the cereal out, and if you give me any problems with it, I'll feed you myself, you got that?" Bobby smiled, but it didn't look all too friendly.

Craig let out a huff and turned to open the cupboard.

"I asked you if you got that, I expect an answer from you." Bobby pulled the milk out and let the refrigerator door shut a little harder than it needed to.

"I got it." Craig muttered while he pulled out the first box of cereal he happened to grab onto. He poured the sugar frosted wheat flakes into the bowl and then shoved the box back onto the shelf and shut the cupboard door.

Bobby poured the milk and got a spoon out of the drawer. "You can sit right here and eat this." He pointed to the kitchen table while he put the milk away.

Craig didn't pick the bowl up right away. "Can't I eat in the living room?" He asked.

"No, I don't want you watching T.V. and not eating. You sit down here and eat. I'm gonna go get you some clothes ready so you can take your shower when you're done."

Craig wanted to complain, but he was starting to wake up a little bit, and managed to hold in the comments that were on the tip of his tongue. He picked up the bowl and walked over to the table. Bobby walked out of the kitchen and Craig could hear him going back up the stairs. He stirred the flakes around in the milk a little bit before taking a bite of them, and then he stirred them around a little more.

Sitting alone in the kitchen didn't seem to improve his mood. He could feel it building in his chest, the urge to scream out. There was no real logical reason for it, and there were no particular words that he felt like screaming. He just wanted to scream. He wanted to scream as loud and as long as his lungs would allow him to. He felt as if he'd feel a thousand times better if he could just release that indescribable feeling building in his chest. He had managed to take a second bite of the cereal before Bobby returned. Bobby headed for the coffee pot, and it wasn't until then that Craig realized a pot had been run.

He poked at his cereal while Bobby poured himself a cup of coffee. Bobby turned and looked at him. "You've got five minutes and if you haven't eaten that I'm gonna sit there with you and feed it to you myself. I ain't got the time for you to pull this, not this morning." He spoke quietly, but the same strain was in his voice as before.

Craig forced another bite down under Bobby's watchful eye before the man walked into the dining room. He could hear Bobby saying something quietly, and moments later Jack's voice responded to him. Craig didn't understand why Bobby thought he had to wake everyone up on his time schedule, it wasn't fair. He was grumbling to himself mentally while he played with his cereal.

Craig took another bite of the cereal and chewed on it. The flakes were starting to soak up the milk, despite the fact that they were supposed to stay crunchy in milk. Craig hated cereal when it started to get soggy, and he knew that it was going to get worse if he didn't eat more quickly, but he almost felt like letting it happen so that he'd have something else to complain about.

Bobby stepped back into the kitchen and stood in the doorway. Craig looked up at him and could tell the man was about to say something, but Angel walked into the kitchen at that moment. Both Bobby and Craig shifted their attention to Angel for the moment.

The man looked tired. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, not the usual attire for him, and his arms were stained with odd shades of black and brown, even some cream color, all layered over top of each other, with a white film that spotted them all. Craig let his gaze rise to Angel's face and the sight was the same, across his forehead and cheeks, even across the top of his hairless head. Craig felt something inside his chest release and he started laughing.

Bobby's reaction was similar; he started to laugh and quickly stepped over to the table to set his coffee down. He turned to Angel who was standing there with his decorated arms hanging down at his side. "Angel, what the hell happened to you?" He asked.

Jack stepped into the kitchen from the dining room. "Yeah, Angel, tell them all about it." He muttered with no hint of laughter to his voice.

Craig looked over at Jack who was in his long johns only. The man's arms showed similar signs of staining, but not quite as bad, but his face and hair were a strange mixture of the same colors Angel was sporting, and the scheme worked its way down his chest. One solid dark smudge was positioned on the end of his nose. When he turned to look at Angel, his back revealed the same camouflage looking mixture of brown, black and cream.

Bobby apparently hadn't gotten a very good look at Jack when he'd gone into the dining room to wake him up. He turned to Jack and his laughing increased. "What the hell have you two been up to?" He turned back to Angel.

"It's a long story." Angel looked at Craig, "Let's just say Sofi ain't plastered up on any walls." He nodded his head as if he were proud of his actions. "I got her all cleaned up."

Bobby looked at Angel, "You dragged Jack out in the middle of the night to go to the school?" His laughing died instantly.

"I just sat in the car." Jack shook his head.

Bobby looked at Jack's stained body and the mark on his nose. "Yeah right, if that's true then whose ass did you have your nose up?" His voice sounded strained.

"No ones." Jack muttered and made his way to the cupboard for a coffee cup. "I got out so I could take a piss and Mr. Coordination managed to drop a whole bucket of paint soaked rags and half dissolved paint on top of me." He shot Angel a dirty look.

Bobby let the laughter take over again and he pulled himself into the chair across from Craig. "Shit, how the hell did you get up that high? He looked at Angel.

Angel stared at Bobby for along moment. "Well, we took the ladder from the garage." He spoke as if he didn't want to say anymore.

Bobby stared at both of them for a moment, letting himself laugh for a little longer, before forcing it to stop. "Wait a minute. How the hell did you wait in the car, and how did you get a ladder to the school? The only car around here is mine, and I had the keys." He seemed to have gained full control by then. He stood and waited for an answer.

Craig let himself laugh hard at the sight of his brothers in the kitchen at that moment. He suddenly felt better than he had for a day or so. It was amazing what a little laughing could do for a person.


	6. Chapter 6

Hope everyone has had a wonderful Thanksgiving! Let me know what you think and thanks for reading! :)

Do not own, make no money.

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**Chapter 6: The Dam Weakens**

Craig didn't seem to have any more problems getting motivated that morning. He ate his cereal quickly before the soggy completely took over the flakes in his bowl. Of course it was much easier to eat while he watched the entertainment playing out in the kitchen.

Bobby went through the roof when he found out Angel had a spare key to his car. He quickly confiscated it and warned his brother never to take his car without his permission.

Then he turned to yell at Jack for going along with such a stupid stunt in the middle of the night when he was still healing up from his bullet to the lung. When he asked Jack what would possess him to go with Angel when he knew his brother's plan was such an idiotic one, Jack's answer had been quick, revealing a deal that included money and a pack of cigarettes.

That got Angel going about Jack needing to learn how to keep his word when they have a deal, and Jack shot back something about having no money or the cigarettes in his hands yet, so maybe Angel should be thinking twice about making deals he wasn't gonna keep.

Bobby kept getting into the middle of his younger brothers' argument, adding his own opinions in between their words. In the end no one actually won the argument, and not one of them looked the least bit happy. Bobby was pissed at Angel for dragging Jack out in the middle of the night, and he was angry at Jack for not using better judgment and going with Angel to start with.

Jack was pissed at Bobby for making such a big deal about him being out at night while he was still healing up. He made a remark that Bobby was worse than their mother ever had been when they younger. He was pissed at Angel because the man had managed to stain his hair, his face and most of his upper body with paint, and he had yet to receive the payment that had been promised.

Angel was pissed at Jack for opening his mouth about the deal they had made after promising not to, and he was pissed at Bobby for telling him he should have known better than to put Jack or himself in danger with such a stupid stunt. He was also pissed that Bobby had found out about the spare key and had taken it away from him.

Apparently Sofi hadn't been aware of Angel's secret mission either, because when she came downstairs to find Angel looking like a paint blotter her eyes sparked with instant rage. She started yelling at him in Spanish with a few English words mixed in. Craig was sure he heard something about a New Year's Eve party, and having to get the paint off before that date arrived.

Watching Angel trying to talk to Sofi while she went on her verbal rampage was more than Bobby, Jack or Craig could handle without laughing. Angel finally grabbed Sofi's arm and pulled her back towards the stair way. The sounds of their feet on the steps were barely audible over both of them speaking loudly back and forth, Sofi's Spanish easily overpowering Angel's own words.

Once they were both out of the room Bobby turned and looked at Jack. "You're sure you're okay?" He asked, trying to stop laughing, but failing.

"Other than having to shave my head if I can't get this paint out, yeah, I'm fine." Jack nodded his head, managing to compose himself as he spoke.

Bobby turned and looked at Craig. "So, you got to watch a show this morning without ever turning on the T.V., now didn't you?" He asked. "You're done eating?"

"Yeah," Craig motioned to his empty bowl.

"Well you need to get your shower before Angel get's in there and spends the rest of the day trying to scrub off that paint." Bobby motioned for Craig to get up.

Craig didn't put up any more arguments that morning. He got his shower dressed and was ready to go when Bobby said it was time. He rode next to Bobby in the front seat, and was surprised that he drove past the school to check out the quality of the work that had been done the night before. Craig laughed quietly at the smeared remains of the paint along the side of the wall. The basic form was still there, but it was unrecognizable if a person hadn't already seen it, except for the two perfect feet that Angel seemed to have missed. They hung on the end of the paint blob, untouched.

"That man needs glasses." Bobby muttered as he drove by slowly.

Craig agreed quietly, and drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry for this morning." He muttered.

Bobby glanced at him. "You feel like telling me what the problem was?" He asked.

Craig shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I guess I was having a hard time waking up." He kept his gaze out the window, though he could feel Bobby looking at him.

"You didn't sleep very good last night." Bobby commented. "Do you remember your dreams?" He asked the question slowly.

Craig shook his head. "No." He lied. He should have felt guilty for lying to Bobby, but he didn't. He didn't want to talk about his dream, or what had happened with Adam or Jordan. Not yet. He wasn't ready. When he was ready he'd talk about it. He just had to figure it out in his head first.

He thought that maybe it would help if he could ask Bobby questions, but he didn't feel comfortable with that. He didn't feel comfortable thinking about it. He was tired of feelings period, and though he had promised himself he wouldn't hide from the memories, or the different emotions churning around just under the surface, he wasn't sure when he was going to be ready, and he prayed Bobby didn't try to force him to face any of it all too soon.

Bobby didn't say anything else until they were almost to the office across from the hospital. "You know, I was thinking that when we're done here, you and me might go check on Ma's grave. What do you think? We can pick up some flowers and put them on the marker, you know?" He asked the question as if he wasn't sure if he should be bringing up their mother's grave. "What do you think?"

Craig felt a chill run down his back. He held his breath for moment, not sure if he could actually answer Bobby. He hadn't thought about going to the cemetery at any time. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see Evelyn's grave. If he seen it, it would be almost like making her death final, and he wasn't sure if he could do that. It would mean that he'd have to face those emotions inside, and if he did that he was risking letting the rest of them out. He didn't know if he could control them if he let them out, and that scared him. What if he lost it right there in the cemetery, and couldn't control the fear and the anger and the humiliation that he was holding back at that moment?

"Well?" Bobby glanced over at him. "What do you think? You know, sometimes, it's good to just go there and talk to her. I know it sounds a little crazy, but I've been there a few times. I just tell her what's going on, and ask her for some advice, and I feel like she can hear me." Bobby's cheeks were turning bright red. "You feel like goin' with me?"

Craig felt his throat trying to choke up on him a little. He couldn't let himself cry, not right at that moment. Just like with every other emotion, if he started to let one out the rest would try to follow, and it would be a flood that he would have to control over. "I'll think about it." He barely got the words out.

"Okay." Bobby nodded his head, and when he glanced over at the boy he had a slight scowl on his face. "You won't tell anyone else about me going there, will you?" He asked. "It's not something I've shared with anyone but you. I can trust you to keep my secret, right?"

Craig nodded his head, and fought down the tightness in his throat. "I won't say a word." Part of him felt odd about Bobby sharing the information with him and putting some trust in him not to say anything. The way he'd been feeling about Bobby there was a good chance that he'd get pissed and blurt his secret out just to piss him off, or hurt him, and he really didn't want to do that.

That was part of the confusion; he didn't understand why he felt pissed at Bobby so much, the man wasn't doing anything different than before. The only thing that had changed was that Craig didn't feel as scared of his brothers, in fact he felt closer than them all than he had in his entire life; but at the same time the fear of them leaving him seemed a thousand times more intense than it ever had before. The idea of being alone was more terrifying than it had been just after Evelyn had died. He'd been sure then that his brothers wouldn't want him; that Bobby would wash his hands of him, but he hadn't done that, he'd kept Craig closer to him, and had won the boy's trust enough that Craig felt he could count on him. So why was he pissed at him? Maybe it was because Bobby hadn't kept him from his father. He was sure that his father's words had been lies; hell, he knew they were, but still, Bobby hadn't gotten to him before his father. He'd let Adam Mack's take him, and hurt him, and he hadn't kept his promise to never let anything like that happen to him again. At the same time he knew it wasn't Bobby's fault.

Bobby had ended up with broken ribs, and Angel had a broken arm. Craig still didn't know how they had gotten the injuries, but the comments that had been made had pointed to something big happening the night that Adam took him. The boy only wished he could remember everything. He wished he could fill in the blank spots. He was sure if he knew everything he wouldn't have the conflicting emotions eating away at his gut.

Bobby pulled the car into the parking lot and found an empty space fairly close to the door. "You know he's gonna want to check you close, right?" He looked over at Craig as he put the car into park.

Craig nodded his head slowly. He had expected the full examination, and though he didn't like the idea he also knew that there would be no way out of it. "I know." He muttered.

"I'll be right there with you, just like before, okay? You did good before; you'll do fine this time." Bobby nodded his head. He was trying to be supportive, and for some reason it didn't sound right coming from Bobby.

Craig looked over at Bobby, a little confused.

"What?" Bobby asked.

Craig shook his head, "Nothing." He muttered.

"What? You got something on your mind, tell me." Bobby pushed in the normal Bobby fashion, and his tone sounded more like the voice Craig was used to.

Craig hesitated and then drew in a deep breath. "Why are you acting different?" He asked.

Bobby looked surprised, "Different in what way?" He sounded as if the question caught him completely off guard.

"You're acting different, not all of the time, but you don't talk like you normally do sometimes." Craig tried to explain. "Why?"

Bobby shook his head. "Maybe you just never listened to me enough to know I could actually be fucking nice when I want to be." He spoke sarcastically.

Craig let a small smile slip out. "Now that's you."

Bobby shook his head. "I told you I was gonna try to talk a little less trash." He commented.

"But it's not you." Craig muttered.

"Let's talk about this after you've seen the doctor, okay? What are you trying to do, stall so that you don't have to go in?" Bobby spoke a little louder than he had to, obviously embarrassed that Craig had notice his lack of using such colorful words recently.

Craig watched Bobby get out of the car and opened his own door. "Well it was worth a shot." He remarked to Bobby's comment, though he honestly hadn't been trying to stall for time.

The doctor's visit seemed to stretch out forever, and Craig dreaded every second of it. Bobby did stay with him the whole time, just like he promised, and Craig had no problem holding onto his brother's hand the whole time the doctor performed the scope. He had to fight to keep control on the feeling of panic that was building up inside of him the whole time. The only thing he could think about was getting back home and hiding from the rest of the world for as long as he possibly could. He could picture his father holding him down and forcing him to do things that hurt, and made him feel nauseous. He could feel bile trying to rise up in his throat, and fought to hold it down. He wanted to yell at the doctor that he hadn't been assaulted that way this time, but he did remember Jordan had enjoyed himself in numerous positions.

As soon as it was over Bobby helped him to sit up, and Craig immediately threw up his breakfast all over the floor. He started crying and telling the doctor he was sorry, trying to hold in the tears. Bobby held onto him and told him it was okay. The doctor was concerned that he'd gotten sick, but he wasn't upset with him. He felt the need to examine him further at that point, dragging out the visit even longer. He was given a shot for his upset stomach, and the doctor told Bobby that he was going to change some of his medication, and give him something to help keep him calm.

Bobby didn't seem too sure of the drugs the doctor was discussing with him, though Craig really wasn't paying much attention to the entire conversation, he just wanted Bobby to agree to whatever the man wanted to do so they could get out of there. He was starting to feel trapped and wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the small examination room. The walls felt as if they were closing in on him.

When they were finally able to leave Bobby put his arm around his shoulders to walk him out. He didn't say anything until they got to the car. He waited until he had the engine running before looking at Craig. "You okay?"

Craig nodded his head, and wiped at some of the left over tears on his cheeks. He felt stupid, but at the same time he was fighting even harder to hold in the emotions inside. He couldn't let them start pouring out, not there, not in front of Bobby. He needed some time alone, to let his self lose control and get some of the tears out that were hiding inside without anyone else around to poke and prod around in his head, trying to get him to talk.

"Maybe we should just get your pills from the drugstore and then head home." Bobby suggested. "We can go to the cemetery another time."

Craig nodded his head, not wanting to speak for fear of more tears making their way out. The pressure inside seemed to be increasing, and he knew that if he could get home where he could hide inside that he would be fine. At that moment it felt as if the whole world was looking at him, knowing what had happened, knowing what he was, and what he'd been forced to do.

Bobby didn't follow his usual pattern of making Craig voice his answer, he just put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space. He drove to the drugstore just a couple of blocks from the house and parked right in front of the door. "You gotta come in with me. I ain't leaving you out here by yourself."

Craig looked at the door; there were groups of people inside the store, easily visible through the door. The idea of having to go in, and be around any of those people made him feel just as panicked as he had in the doctor's examining room. "I don't want to go in; can't I lock the doors and wait here?" He asked weakly, not looking at Bobby, he couldn't break his stare away from the people in the store. He was sure that if he went in they would be able to look at him and know everything that was wrong with him, they would know what Adam Macks had turned him into and they would cringe at the sight of him.

"No, you can't stay in the car by yourself." Bobby sounded firm. "Come on, it will only take a minute. The doctor called the prescriptions in from his office." Bobby started to open his door.

"Bobby, please?" Craig felt the fear weaving into his words, but he couldn't keep it from breaking free from inside of him.

Bobby looked at him, frowning. He drew in a deep breath. "Okay. You lock the damn doors, and you don't move from this car, you got that?" He asked.

Craig nodded his head slowly. "I won't, I promise." He muttered.

Bobby didn't look too sure. "You're gonna be okay for just a few minutes? You're sure about that?"

Craig nodded his head. "I'm sure."

Bobby sucked in a deep breath and almost growled. "Okay." He got out of the car and slammed the door shut. He stood there and watched Craig lock the doors before walking up to the door and disappearing inside the drug store.

Craig pulled his coat tight around him and let his body slouch in the seat of the car, doing his best to keep his gaze fixed on something inside the car. He wasn't sure where the panic was coming from at that moment, but he was doing his best to fight down the feeling that the people walking in and out of the drug store were looking at him and pointing. He felt the urge to open his door and run, but he fought it down. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to get to where it felt safe and no one looked at him as if he were some kind of a freak.

A small portion of his brain was trying to deal with it logically, telling him that no one was looking at him, it was all his imagination, but the other part, the part that was sounding a lot like Adam Macks was telling him he was nothing but an object to be used however his abuser wanted, and the whole world knew it. People could look at him and see what he was, it was obvious.

He could feel the dam that he'd built up cracking open a little wider than before, and he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to hold it in much longer. He just couldn't stand the idea of losing control, and not know what he was doing or saying. It had happened before, and he was terrified of it happening again. He was terrified of falling into a waking nightmare, and coming out of it to find that he had done something that he hadn't really been aware of. He wanted to face what was inside, but not without some control.


	7. Chapter 7

Let me know what you think, and as always thanks for reading and for the reviews! :)

Do not own, make no $$$$$$$

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**Chapter 7: Taking Care of Business**

Jeff Jones stood in front of the mirror in the restroom of his motel room. He'd had a chance to get used to the new face peering back at him, but he was still amazed at the change. He was in awe of the drastic effect a simple elastic band and some contacts could have on his looks. He was happy with the hair too. He looked ten years younger, and he felt like a whole new person. He laughed at that thought, hell he was a whole new person with a whole new name. He had put his new teeth in as well, and when he laughed they caught his attention. They not only changed his smile, but they seemed to fill out his cheeks, and straighten his jaw. He had to admit that Sammy knew what the hell he was doing.

He'd had a chance to eat at that little diner again before returning to his room the evening before, and he'd flirted with that cute thing of a waitress. She had flirted back, and it had made his day. He wanted more from her, but she seemed to back off when his flirting turned a little more inviting. He'd been taken by surprise when she put the distance between herself and him then, not sure exactly what he'd done wrong. Maybe he had been too eager, too desperate sounding. He wasn't sure. He had come back to his room and taken a cold shower, not that it helped much. He was considering going out in the middle of the night to find some hot thing on a street corner, but he was in the mood for more than a woman by then. He was remembering how it had felt to finally have his son back for times like that, and the idea of having him stolen from him started his anger to burning, driving down any urges that had risen before and killing his mood to just have some fun.

He needed more money, and he needed to find a car and a gun, but at that moment he was looking at the free thrift store shirt and pants he was sporting. They looked old and used. He needed to concentrate on getting a car, he knew that, but he needed decent clothes. Maybe if he'd been dressed well the waitress wouldn't have backed off from him like he was a piece of shit sitting in front of her. He had a feeling that Jeff Jones was one hell of a dresser. He had some taste, some style. He just felt that about him. He was a lady's man too, and he wouldn't come off so desperate to a woman, he would be smooth and show some class. Yeah, that was Jeff Jones.

He counted out his money, and he still had a little over six hundred dollars rolled up. He pulled a couple hundred out to shove into his pocket and stuck the rest into his backpack where it would be safe. He was thinking about stopping at the diner to grab some breakfast, but he had never been much of a breakfast person. A hot cup of coffee though, and a chance to see that cute piece of ass once more was an inviting thought.

He hit the street with some vague plans on his mind. The diner was first on his agenda, and then he needed to ask around about any quick jobs that he could pull to make a little more money. He was willing to do anything right then, run some dope, steal some cars. He could do anything that wasn't too physical. He didn't want to tear out any stitches.

It had been some years since he'd been around, but the doc' could probably point him in the right direction, so he'd go and see him once he'd had a good hot cup of coffee. He'd known the doctor when the man was nothing more than an intern, selling drugs on the street. Chuck was his name, but he'd never called him anything but doc'. He'd used Chuck's ability to get his hands on drugs to his advantage, and Chuck was always quick to step up to lend a helping hand if anyone was in need of medical attention from injuries incurred from illegal activity.

Adam Macks had almost owned this town at one time. If he didn't have to go back to Detroit the idea of sticking around and trying to pick up where he left off was tempting. Taking over as Jeff Jones, now that would be sweet. He didn't like the idea of having to beg help from people who had at one time worked under him, but at this point he had much choice. Of course, once he was finished with his business in Detroit, and he had his son back with him where he belonged, he could bring him back, and put his ass to work, making him good money.

He needed to get himself some clothes. He was sure he'd be able to lift a credit card somewhere between the diner and the clinic; he never had any problems nabbing a wallet from some fool right on the street. Once he had a credit card he could go shopping in some of the finer stores. He needed to dress the part if he was going to convince anyone to give him some good paying work. Jeff Jones had reputation to build, and he was goin to make sure he did it right.

To his disappointment, the waitress he was looking forward to seeing wasn't in the diner that morning. He'd hoped to correct his mistake from the evening before, and come off less pushy, less desperate. He had wanted the chance to show that he had some style, and that there was something special about him. He'd wanted to impress her with a big tip and slick conversation rather than flirty phrases and comments. Oh well, there was always dinner to come back for, and maybe she would be there then.

From the diner he went straight to the clinic. He didn't go to the back door this time. He found a pay phone down the street and called first. He let his old acquaintance know he was on his way. He smiled when he seen the look on the doc's face as he walked through the door. He went to the back with him, eyeing one of the cute little volunteers that were standing at the front counter. He wasn't disappointed with the information the doc' was able to give him. There was a man running a chop-shop on the edge of town, and he was always on the lookout for anyone who could pick him up some decent goods. Hell, there was a chance the man could set him up with a decent set of wheels too. Jeff Jones' luck was looking pretty good right about then. He was on his way to making some money, and getting his shit together.

Before heading to the shop the doc' had told him about, Jones headed for the high class side of town, where the high priced retail stores were lined up the street like a big old fucking candy counter. The men and women who moved about on the sidewalks dressed like they were on their way to some fucking party, suites and ties, expensive shoes and coats. He could spot the shoppers easily enough; they were carrying bags with store names printed on the side, and walking as if they had just won the lottery. It was funny how buying expensive shit seemed to make people feel so damn good. Well he was on his way to enjoying that same feeling, very soon.

He found his mark with no problem, a middle aged man who walked out of a jewelry store carrying a small bag in his hand, looking like he was on cloud nine. Jones couldn't help but wonder what he had in the bag. A new watch maybe, or a thousand dollar ring that he would wear on his hand and flash around like it was some prize out of a Cracker Jack box. Of course it could be a gift for his wife, a diamond necklace, or ring, something that she could show off to all of her friends and boast about how much her husband was willing to spend on her.

It didn't matter what the hell was in the bag. The man would have paid for whatever the hell it was with a fucking credit card; that much he was sure of. He started walking towards him, ducking his head down and shoving his hands into his pants pockets. He collided with the older man hard, nearly knocking him down, and causing him to lose his grip on the bag handle causing it to fall, landing in the half melted ice on the sidewalk.

"Watch it fella!" The man yelled out, his voice sounding nasty and hard.

Jones' hand was quick as he first hit, sliding into the man's pant pocket undetected and pulling out the wallet. He shoved it back into his own pocket and then used his other hand to brush the man's jacket off quickly. "I'm so sorry." He bent down to pick up the bag and handed it to the gentleman. "I am so very sorry." He sounded as sincere as he could while looking directly into the eyes of his victim. He could tell the stranger was about to call him every name in the book. He was a typical rich man, thinking he was better than anyone else around him. He reminded him of his own father. Rich and selfish. Never wanting to give any of his hard earned money to anyone, not even his own son.

Jones took off down the street quickly, not caring to hear this man insulting him. He smiled to himself as he put the distance between himself and the unknowing contributor to his finances. That was always too fucking easy to pull off. He waited until he was sure he was out of range of the man's vision before pulling out the wallet and checking the contents. Hell, he'd been wrong, the man didn't have a credit card, but he had over a thousand dollars neatly tucked into his wallet. Well that was enough to get some clothes, and keep him going until he had some steady money coming in.

Within the hour Jeff Jones was two blocks over, trying on clothes. He decided his best color was a deep, rich blue that matched his eyes. Black was the second best on him. He needed some casual wear as well. He needed to blend in with normal, every day people as well as impress the not so every day types. By the time he walked out of the store wearing part of his new wardrobe, he'd spent nearly six hundred dollars. It was well worth it though. He'd been able to throw away the thrift store crap and he was actually experiencing that feeling that he'd been yearning for. That feeling as if he'd just won the fucking lottery. Hell, he had never realized just how good it could feel to actually like how he looked. He walked with his head held high and there seemed to be new energy in his step. He liked being Jeff Jones more than ever.

Talking his way into some work lifting cars was no problem. Carl was all too anxious to have a new face, someone from out of town and not known. Jones didn't bother to tell him who he was, he'd know this guy, not well, but he'd known him when he was Adam Macks and had run the streets. Carl had been a no good punk at the time, doing small time shit, breaking and entering, robbing convenient stores. He had figured Carl would end up in jail most of his life, and was surprised to see that he'd actually managed to get himself organized, doing shit right. He didn't ask any questions, didn't want to know details of Carl's operation. He agreed that he would get the cars Carl wanted and he'd take his money with no other details being passed between them.

When Jones asked about a car, Carl told him he didn't have any for sale at that time, but that he had a buddy that had an Impala that he was trying to get rid of. It was old, but it ran well, besides, it would come cheap.

Carl said that he'd call him when he needed him, and that pretty much ended the brief meeting between the two. Jones headed to the address Carl had given him and ended up making a deal for the car. He drove it out of the man's drive, his free and clear for four hundred bucks. He didn't even have to get it registered, it was aleady set up with tags and fake registration. It did run sweet, and he liked the feel of it. It didn't look too bad for being an older model and he felt almost rich. It defiantly beat that piece of shit Dodge he'd had back in Detroit.

He didn't feel like going back to his room, and it was too early to go to the diner. He was done with most of his business for the day. He could wait until the next day to locate a gun. The rest of the day was his to enjoy. He decided to find a nice quiet bar and get a little something to kill his thirst. He was in a good mood, and it wouldn't hurt one bit to celebrate. His luck was changing, and he was going to be coming back stronger and better than he'd ever been.

His mind was working out a rough plan for returning to Detroit. He had several things he had to accomplish when he got there. He had to deal with a few different people. Jordan was one man that needed taken out quick. He needed to make sure he wasn't available to spill his fucking guts in court. He needed to deal with Winston. That son of a bitch had double crossed him, he knew that for certain. He'd told the Mercers where he was and where he'd taken the kid. He was gonna take that payment out in blood. He had the Mercers to take care of as well. He was starting to feel like a fucking kid on Christmas morning. He was going to get everything he wanted too. Dead Mercers, dead Winston, dead Jordan, and his kid back with him where he fucking belonged, doing what the hell he needed him to do. He was going to take care of business the right way this time.

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Bobby walked back to the prescription counter of the drug store. He didn't understand why in the hell they always had to be in the back, away from the doors and windows. He needed to be able to keep an eye on Craig, he wasn't acting right. He didn't like leaving him in the car, but he was sure if he'd taken him inside with him he would have freaked out. He could see it in his eyes; he'd had the look of a caged animal, terrified of everyone around him. It had come out of nowhere, and Bobby wasn't sure what the hell to do about it at that moment.

He gave the pharmacist his name and the name for the prescription that he needed to pickup and cringed inside when he was told it would be about five minutes. He nodded his head and walked back to the front of the store, watching the car, and making sure Craig was still in it. The kid seemed to be good at taking off for walks when things were getting tough, and he wasn't about to give him a chance to walk away from the car.

His mind wandered back to the day Craig had walked away from Jerry's house. He'd ended up lost and not sure what the hell was going on. He wasn't taking the chance of something like that happening again.

Bobby knew it was time to make him start talking. He was sure of it now. The kid was letting the shit eat him up inside. He was making himself sick, and from what Jack had told him about the way he'd found him in the living room, there was a lot of shit holed up inside that kid that needed to come out. It wasn't going to be easy, hell, it was probably gonna be harder than anything they'd faced in the last month, but Craig needed to get it out and face it head on. He couldn't hide from it, and Bobby couldn't let it go on any longer. He'd backed off from his talk before, not able to handle the thought of putting his little brother through that hell again.

It seemed like it never stopped. First he'd had to watch his mother die, and was assaulted by the same gunman that had shot her. Just when they were getting past that nightmare Victor Sweet had thought it was necessary to fuck with the kid's mind, keeping him blindfolded and tied up like some animal. He was a kid, a little boy who had already been through hell in his life; he didn't need more piled on top of that. That son of a bitch deserved everything he got when Bobby had gotten his hands on him, though looking back on it now, he'd wished he'd drawn it out more, made the man feel more pain, more humiliation than he had that day on the lake.

He had promised Craig no one would ever touch him like that again, and he'd meant it, with all his being, he had intended on killing anyone who ever harmed that kid again in any way. Somehow he'd failed to keep that promise, and he had been kicking himself in the ass ever since. Jack was right, he was blaming himself. He was letting that get in the way of taking care of the kid the way he needed taken care of. He'd been pretty damn hard on him before, made him do what he needed to deal with the shit. He was taking it easy on him now, letting him hide from it. He just didn't know if he could handle watching him face the memories of what his own father had done to him.

Maybe Craig telling him he was pissed at him had dug in deeper than he cared to admit. He'd tried to protect him and Jack both from whatever trouble was coming their way, but he'd ended up setting them up as easy targets, and at some level he believed Craig had every right to be pissed at him. The kid said he didn't know why he as angry, but Bobby suspected he just didn't remember all of the details, only the feelings. He knew deep down that his brother had failed to keep his promise, and he didn't trust him anymore.

Bobby watched through the window as Craig squeezed his eyes closed. He looked like he was terrified, sitting out there in that car alone, and Bobby wanted to go out and drag his butt inside with him. He was afraid of the reaction he'd get if he did though. Craig was afraid of something at that moment. He kept looking up at the people walking by as if they were a threat to him. Hell, the kid was terrified of being around people right then, and that was far from normal. No matter how bad he'd been before, he hadn't gone that far over the edge. He was battling a hell of a lot more this time, and Bobby knew he needed to put his own battles aside for the time being and do what needed done. It wasn't going to be pleasant, and the kid might hate him when it was all said and done, but he wasn't going to watch him turn into a mental case right in front of his eyes without trying to do anything about it. He'd seen Jack close to that when their mother had first brought him home, and he knew that Craig had already been down that road once, and Evelyn had pulled him out of whatever state he'd been in when he was little. Now it was his job to make sure he didn't fall back into it.

The nagging fear that they would get Craig close to back to normal and then have Macks turn up again was what really worried him. They had talked to Green a few times, but there was no news, no one had dragged that damn pond yet. The good news was no one had spotted the man anywhere either. There were no reports of a bullet wound being treated in any hospital, and there had been no more phone calls. Still, what if the shit was still out there and managed to get his hands on Craig again? The kid would never be the same as it was, but if that shit got close to him again, he'd be a lost cause; he'd retreat into his own world and would never come out, Bobby couldn't handle that. He couldn't handle loosing the kid to the shit the world had thrown at him, not after fighting so hard to keep him in the real world with him.

He heard his name being called from the back, and took one last look at the kid before walking briskly through the store to the counter to pick up the pills the doctor had prescribed. Maybe the drugs would help. The doctor had told him they would help him to stay calm and keep him from panicking. They would make it easier for him to sleep, and he wouldn't feel so tense. Bobby didn't like the idea of drugging him any more than was already. He pushed the worry to the back of his mind and signed for the pills after handing over his credit card. He quickly thanked the man behind the counter and headed back to the car. He felt relief when he walked out the door and found Craig was still locked up tight in the car, though he was hunkered down in the seat as if he were trying to hide from the world. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. Craig looked almost as relieved as Bobby felt when the man climbed into the seat next to him. "You okay?" Bobby asked.

Craig nodded his head, but shifted his gaze back to a man walking up to the door of the drugstore. "I just want to go home." He sounded like a small child when he spoke.

"That's where we're goin'." Bobby handed Craig the bag and put the key in the ignition. Yeah, that's where they were going, but he wasn't so sure Craig was going to be so happy to get there when he figured out what his older brother was planning for him. Hell, it was gonna be a battle, and it was gonna be hard, but it was about time it was done. He had to make the kid talk to him. He had to turn back into his hard assed self and make the kid come out of his self inflicted hell. He had to take care of the business at hand; he couldn't put it off any longer.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to all for reading, and for the reviews :)

Still do not own, still make no money!

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**Chapter 8: Holding On**

Craig watched the houses lining the streets move past him as Bobby drove the car towards home. He wasn't paying much attention to the houses; he was trying to ignore Bobby who seemed to think that he needed to talk to him. He sounded concerned and Craig knew his concern was valid, but it was irritating. All he needed was some quiet, and time to regain control of the storm that was building inside of him. He needed the chance to push it all back down to that safe place behind the walls in his mind, to where he couldn't feel all of the different emotions that were trying to bombard him at once. He didn't want to listen to anyone, especially Bobby, talking to him at that moment. He was having a hard enough time keeping what little composure he had. He just needed to hold on for a few more minutes, when they reached the house he could hide away from it, for a little while at least.

There had been several times while he was alone in the car that he'd actually started to open the door and run like hell, just to get away from the feeling that every person that walked past the car was looking at him and knew what he was and what he'd done, been forced to do. But he knew that no matter where he went there would be people, looking at him, and pointing and laughing at him. He had to get home, inside the house, where no one else could see him. He didn't want people looking at him, not even his brothers at that moment.

When they got to the house he was going to grab his sketch pad and go up to his room. He didn't care what Bobby said, he didn't have to listen to him, what was he going to do if he didn't listen, ground him? Hell, he was already as good as grounded; he wasn't allowed to do anything but sit on the fucking couch. Beat his ass? He didn't care; there was nothing that Bobby could do that was any worse than what Adam Mack had already done to him.

Bobby didn't really care anyway. He was just going through the motions, making everyone else think that he cared. If he cared he wouldn't have let him feel like this for so long. It may have only been days, but it felt like forever that he'd been battling the memories, and the feelings inside of him and he was losing control over it. He needed to have the time to figure them all out, sort out the memories and really understand what had happened. He didn't understand any of it, no matter how hard he tried.

He felt like he needed to throw up again, but there was nothing left in his stomach to get sick on. He wished now that he had driven it all far enough back that he could wipe it all clear from his mind. He had wanted to deal with it this time, he had wanted to understand it, and move past it, but this was too damn hard. It was easier the old way. It as much easier to forget about it and blank all of the memories out of his mind, but now it was too late for that.

Bobby parked the car in front of the house and said something about getting him a little food for his stomach before he took his pills, and then lying down on the couch to take a nap. He didn't want to take a nap, he didn't want any food, and he damn sure didn't want any of the damn pills that he kept shoving down him. He wanted to be left alone for a while. He needed to get away from everyone, especially his brothers. He was going to go to his room and if Bobby didn't like it, then screw him.

He didn't like feeling like this. He felt angry, and scared, and hurt. The fear was the most intense at that moment, but it seemed one emotion would retreat and another would come back more intense than the last, and it was getting harder to control. His own feelings were conflicting with each other, and it was confusing and that only made it more irritating. He looked over at Bobby, and tried to remember what it was like to be able to tell him that he was scared. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been able to depend on Bobby to help him feel better, and his brother had helped, all of his brothers had helped in one way or another, but he couldn't talk to them, none of them. He wanted to, but how could they understand what he was feeling? How he could he explain to Bobby that part of him needed him to make it right, and the other part of him didn't want to be anywhere near him? How could he explain anything if he couldn't understand it himself?

Bobby got out of the car and walked around to Craig's door. Craig hadn't even thought to open his door and get out of the car. He watched Bobby open the door next to him, and he slowly unfastened his seatbelt. Bobby reached in and took the small back from the drugstore from him, then took a hold of his arm just above his elbow and pulled him out of the car.

Craig started to pull his arm free from Bobby's hold, but the grip tightened. Bobby shut the car door and pulled Craig up the front walk to the steps. Craig let his brother push him into the front porch ahead of him, and he tried again to pull out of Bobby's hold, but it did no good. Once they were actually in the house he tried a third time to pull free from Bobby. Bobby gave him a slight pull back towards him, "Stop it." He spoke quietly. "You ain't goin' anywhere, so just stop it." He started pulling Craig's coat off of him.

Jack walked in from the kitchen. "So how did it go?" He sounded cheerful until he looked at Craig. "What's up?" He looked at Bobby.

Craig wondered how it was people could look at him and seem to know everything about him. And why was it that Jack couldn't ask him what was going on? He had directed the question to Bobby as if he wasn't even there. It seemed to dig at the anger that was pushing its way to the surface. It confirmed that everything that had happened to him, everything that he was feeling was easily seen by everyone that looked at him. Part of him tried to think that Jack just knew him well enough to know something was wrong, but another part of him was sure that it was because anyone could look at him and see just what he was.

Bobby managed to get Craig's coat off of him fairly quick and looked at Jack while he hung it up. "He's fine, he just a rough time at the doctor's. Take him to the couch and stay with him while I get him a sandwich and his pills." He pulled his own coat off while Jack nodded his head.

"Sure." Jack motioned for Craig to walk with him to the living room.

"I want to go to my room." Craig muttered quietly. He was barely able to get the words out, and he wasn't sure why. He didn't care if Bobby wanted him in the living room. He didn't care if he wanted him to eat and take some damn pills, he wanted to go to his room, and he wanted everyone to leave him alone.

Bobby laughed a little. "You ain't been in your room for weeks, I don't think you need to go up there and lock yourself in it now." He didn't sound upset, but Bobby's words stabbed at Craig's emotions harder than before.

"I don't want any damn pills, and I don't want to stay down here. I want to go to my room." Craig managed to speak more clearly than before, and he had let the anger he'd been fighting down ooze into the words as they came out.

"I don't care what you want. You're gonna do what I tell you." Bobby started to walk towards the kitchen. "Take him to the couch Jack, I'll be right there."

Craig turned to walk up the stairs, and though Jack reached for him, he was just a little faster on his feet than Jack. He had wanted his sketch pad, but it looked as if he would have to wait for that. He didn't try to run, he didn't care of Bobby got mad and came after him, he wanted to go to his room, and Bobby wasn't going to stop him.

"Craig!" Jack cried out, sounding surprised by the boy's move, but he didn't follow, he didn't have the chance to follow. He had gotten Bobby's attention.

"Whoa!" Bobby turned and started after him, his pace was quick, and he didn't look too happy. "You get your ass back down here, you ain't going to your room, I told you that already!" He was closing in on him quickly.

Craig was nearly half way up the stairs when Angel came out of the restroom, most of the paint still stained across the top of his head and face, but some of it seemed to have been removed in spots, though his skin looked red and irritated in those areas. He stepped up to the stairs just as Craig was reaching the top with Bobby close behind him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Angel asked, starting to realize exactly what was taking place in front of him.

Craig didn't answer the man; the pressure from the eruption that was about to take place inside of him propelled him forward and he was trying to push his way past the one brother blocking his way, trying to get away from the one on his heels.

Angel didn't move, apparently realizing that Craig was on the run from Bobby and blocking the boy from going any further. Bobby caught up to him on the last step with little effort. Craig felt his left arm being grabbed, and he was turned so that his back came up against the wall, he tried to pull free from the hold on him, but just as before the hold tightened. He kept his head turned to avoid looking at Bobby, his eyes focused on his open bedroom door. "Let go of me!" He cried out when his attempt to pull free yielded no results. He could feel the desperation building inside. His room was right there, close to him, and he wasn't going to be able to reach it. He knew he wasn't going any further now that Bobby had a hold of him, but he still tried again to pull free and push past Angel.

"I don't know what's going through that head of yours right now Craig, but I really do want to help you out. If that means I need to drag your ass down these stairs and put you over my knee to remind you who the big brother is, I will. Do you want me to do that?" Bobby pushed his self closer to him, one hand grabbing his jaw and forcing him to turn and look him directly in the face.

Craig felt his body freeze instantly. He held in the scream that was slowly building in his chest. He shook his head slowly; no he didn't want his ass beat. "I just want to go to my room." His voice came out choked and strained from the effort he was putting into holding back the eruption that was rumbling deep inside. He squeezed his eyes closed as he surrendered to the fact that Bobby was going to take him back downstairs. His brain reasoned that once he was downstairs he could wait for a moment when his brothers weren't so close to him, and then he'd make another attempt to get to the safety of his room.

"Well you ain't going to your room. You're gonna do what the fuck I'm telling you to do. You're gonna eat something so that when I give you the medicine you won't get sick on it. And then you are going to lay down on the couch until the pills have a chance to get into your system. Once we've both calmed down enough, we're gonna have a long overdue talk, do you understand me?" Bobby's words came out slow and calm, but his voice held a threat to it. Craig hadn't heard that tone from Bobby since he'd been home. Bobby had been bossy, and he'd been barking off orders, but it was as if a switch had been flipped and Bobby sounded like he had just after Evelyn's funeral. It was like he didn't like his youngest brother at that moment, and Craig felt his insides turning to jelly.

Craig felt the tears starting but he couldn't hold them in. He felt as if he were about to burst, and he couldn't let it happen, not now, not in front of his brothers, not when he couldn't control any of it. Bobby was taking his control away from him, and it brought more of the anger to the surface. He was going to make him talk. He was going to push him, and he didn't want to face any of it, not yet. He wasn't ready.

Bobby pulled him away from the wall and started to pull him down the stairs.

"What the hell is going on?" Angel asked as he started to follow them down.

"He's had a rough morning." Bobby spoke without looking back to Angel. He was holding Craig close, forcing the boy to take each step downward.

Craig's mind took a wild spin on him, flashing pictures of another stairway, charred and scorched, the smell of smoke and mildew stung at his nose, and he could remember trying desperately to crawl up the steps, to get away from the monster below him. The fear overwhelmed him, and he could feel his hold on reality loosening slightly. He wanted to up, not down. He wanted to get away from what was below him.

His legs locked up on him, and he turned to try and move back up. Bobby seemed to be expecting his move though and both arms wrapped about him instantly, pinning his arms to his side, lifting him off of his feet and they continued moving downward. The scream that released from his throat was deafening, even to him, but once that much had come out, the pressure behind it was pushing out more. "No!" He cried out, and kicked at his captor, feeling the fear from that day swelling up inside of him. Each step that he'd been dragged down came back to him, the feel of his father's hold on him once he'd been lifted off the stairs. The fate that had been waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, the pain, and the fear, it all swirled around him now, coming back just as strong as that day.

Bobby managed to get him to the bottom with little effort, and then he pulled him past Jack to the living room. He didn't release his hold on him. He dropped back onto the couch, pulling Craig down with him onto his lap, holding him just as tightly as before, but letting him scream and kick and struggle against him. Craig could feel the hold he had on his control slipping even more as he put his energy into fighting Bobby's arms pinning him.

Craig continued to struggle against Bobby, but it was doing no good, his screams still coming out loud and strong with his mind locked in the memory of Adam Macks tossing him to the floor like a rag doll, and what had come after he'd struck the hard, wooden floor boards. His screams silenced at the memory of his lungs not being able to suck in air. His mind could focus only on trying to pull away from Bobby, to get up and run for the stairs and the safety of his own room and away from the memory of the two dead bodies lying on the floor, blood flowing from them like a river, with the metallic smell of the red substance hanging in the air.

"Jack, bring me his pills, and a glass of milk." Bobby called out over the boys' struggles, still holding him tight. He maneuvered him from his lap and onto the couch still keeping his arms wrapped tightly around him, keeping him close to him.

"Let go of me!" Craig begged his brother. He couldn't let this happen. He was about to lose all control. He didn't want to lose the control, it was the only thing he had right then. His father had stolen it from him once, and forced him to submit to him. He had control now, and he needed desperately to hold onto it with all his will.

"You are going to stay right here Craig. You want to scream and kick, then you go right ahead, you scream your lungs out, you kick all you need to, but you ain't going up to your room to hide from everything, it's not gonna happen. I've let you hide from it long enough. You aren't dealing with shit, and I'm gonna change that. You're gonna talk to me. I don't care if we sit here like this all fucking day, but you are going to talk to me, and you are gonna come out of that fucking shell you're trying to hide in. You understand me?" Bobby's voice was loud, the words quick, and almost seemed cold.

"Leave me alone!" Craig tried to pull away once more, tried to twist his body out of his brother's hold with all the strength he could put into the attempt.

"I can't leave you alone Craig, I love you too much. Do you hear me? I love you too fucking much to let you keep doing this to yourself. You did it before, and I ain't gonna let you do it again." Bobby's voice came out loud and stiff. "You can fight me all you want, I'll just wait until you wear yourself down."

Craig stopped struggling. There was something that Bobby said that seemed to grab hold of his chest and grip hard enough to cause it to ache intensely. He turned and looked at Bobby as the words rang in his head. Bobby said he loved him. He slowly let his body turn into Bobby and he rested his head on his shoulder, feeling his insides tighten as they relented to the flood of emotions that were pushing their way out. It was all about to break through the walls he'd built up, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now, Bobby had taken that away from him, and he would have to face it, whether he wanted to or not. He would never forgive his brother for this. He would never forget it, and he would hold it against him for the rest of his life. He was stealing away his control, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't right. He'd had it taken away once, and he'd had to surrender to what ever his father had in store for him. He couldn't stand the thought of losing it again, but Bobby was ripping it away from him.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!

Legal statement still counts.

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**Chapter 9: The Conflict Inside**

Jeff Jones woke slowly, his mind a complete fog. He wasn't sure where he was, he only knew for certain that he was laying on his stomach, and he was missing his clothes. His last coherent memories were of sitting in a bar where the dark shadows warped into strange shapes from the neon lights hanging on dark wood panel walls with water stains running down them. He was sure there had been some pleasant conversation with a pair of large tits at one point, but the topic of that conversation was lost to him. He'd been downing the whiskey hard, the money in his pocket burning it's way into the bartender's hand.

His aching head managed to lift off of the pillow under him enough to raise his eyes to a level that he could crack them open. He regretted the action immediately. The morning light streaming around the green and yellow curtains stabbed through his eye sockets directly into his brain. The pain pulsed hard into his eardrums and seemed to reach clear down to his stomach, causing the nauseous sensation to overwhelm him immediately.

He squeezed his eyes closed hard and forced his lead weighted arms to push him upwards, away from the bed. He opened his eyes again and looked at his motel room. He couldn't remember coming back to his room. He didn't remember undressing himself, though he wasn't sure as to why he would have stripped down to his bare-ass if he was going to bed alone. He wasn't known for sleeping without his clothes unless he was sharing his bed with someone, man or woman, or other. He forced his legs to the edge of the bed and started to stand. He heard a moan from behind him and froze for the moment. He had to go puke his guts out, but the moan was too intriguing for him to ignore. He turned and looked at the other side of the bed.

A lump of someone was buried under the thread fraying green bedspread with an arm sticking out of one side. It looked feminine, but hell, he'd been known to bed all sorts. He wondered who the hell was in his bed and what kind of fun he'd had the night before that he couldn't remember. He almost laughed at the thought that he'd had himself a hell of a night but couldn't remember it. He sighed and forced himself to his feet, moving with a slight stagger towards the small restroom, hoping to hell whoever it was in his bed would get the hell out soon. If she wasn't awake by the time he returned he'd wake her up and toss her out on her ass. He needed to get his head on straight so he could get to taking care of some business. He didn't have time to waste on no fucking slut he'd picked up in a bar.

He slammed the restroom door closed hard; hoping the slam of the wood hitting wood would wake the bitch up. He looked at himself in the mirror and frowned. His contacts were still in, and he thought he could remember Sammy saying something about not leaving them in when he slept. He managed to get them out, but his eyes were dry and scratchy. They looked like a road map marked out with yellow and red. He found the eye rinse Sammy had sent home with him and used it. He put his contacts up to soak, and then adjusted the elastic band around his hairline. It was digging into him, and that only intensified the throbbing behind his eyes, but he didn't want to change his appearance too much. He wanted the woman in his bed to see Jeff Jones not Adam Macks, when he kicked her out of his room.

He pulled his teeth out and put them in a cup to soak while he allowed his stomach to revolt against him. He took a quick piss and then examined the bandage on his stomach. He turned as best as he could and looked at the one his back, and both looked as if they had survived the night. He rinsed his face off with some cold water and then quickly brushed his teeth to get rid of the foul taste that was lingering there. When he had a better taste in his mouth he grabbed the teeth and eased them back in, despite the fact that they were pinching into his gums from being in his mouth for too long already. He didn't want to put the contacts back in yet, he wasn't sure his eyes could handle them, but he needed to have them in when he woke up the slut in his bed.

The moment his blue lenses were in his eyes started stinging, and that did not help his headache in the least. He let a low growl rumble from his throat as he moved out of the rest room and looked at the bed. She was still there, but she'd come around and was sitting up on the bed, the spread wrapped around her, but only covering herself from the waist down.

He cringed inside to think he'd actually fucked what was sitting in front of him. She was twice his weight, but short. Her boobs were definitely the same set he'd been talking to so sweetly the night before, but damn, they just didn't look as inviting to him now as they had then. He looked at her face. Her makeup was smeared about on her face, black streaks and smudges shadowed her eyes. He looked a little closer and realized it wasn't all make up smudges; there was a beauty of a shiner coming up on her left eye. He snickered quietly to himself; he figured he must have come around to his senses enough at one point to see that the fat cunt wasn't all that he'd thought she was when he'd brought her to his bed.

The woman looked as if she were ten years older than him, with graying hair rimming the almost black tangle of a mess on her head. Her mouth hung open slightly, showing the crooked, unkempt teeth. She didn't seem a bit phased by the fact that she'd been smacked around a bit; with her looks it wouldn't be surprising that she'd been beat on in the past. He was about to beat on her some more if she didn't get the fuck out quick.

He walked over to the chair sitting next to the curtained window and grabbed the clothes that were hung over the back of it, a black blouse and short yellow skirt that looked two times too small for the owner. He tossed them to her. "Get the fuck out of here." He growled at her. It was times like this that he was thankful his voice could sound so threatening, with the broken, half hoarse texture it held.

She stared at him for a long moment, and he was sure that there was an emotion of some sort behind her eyes, perhaps he'd hurt her feelings; though he had to hand it to her, she was covering it up well. Hell, he didn't care. He'd had his sights set on something with some real class, and he'd ended up with a fat slut with an ugly face.

The woman let the bedspread drop so that she could pull on her blouse. She grabbed her skirt and stood to slide into it. She stumbled a bit and looked around the floor for a short moment until she found her shoes. She walked to them, leaned over and snatched them up from under the small table in the corner of the room.

Jones walked over to the bed and found his clothes lying on the floor next to it. He sat on the disheveled bedding and grabbed his t-shirt while the woman stumbled over to the dresser to grab her purse. She turned and looked at him. "I need to piss." She spoke quietly. Her voice seemed to be trembling slightly.

His eyes narrowed on her. She did have a sweet voice. Her eyes weren't so bad either, other than the smudging around them, and that fucking bruise that he was sure he'd put there. He was known for hitting in the heat of the moment. She sounded scared, and for some reason he didn't like that. "Then go piss." He grumbled and turned back to the task of turning his t-shirt right side out.

He heard the restroom door close, and a few minutes later he heard the toilet flush. He was sure he could hear her crying just a moment after the water started running in the sink. He gave her a few minutes, almost feeling guilty for being such an ass. Hell, he'd never felt guilty about anything in his life. Where in the hell was this shit coming from? He forced himself to laugh quietly. Hell, maybe Jeff Jones had a conscious. That wasn't good, not good at all. He was gonna have to work on this Jones character, he needed some straightening out. There was no use for guilt. He had to do what the fuck he had to do. No one else mattered, and as soon as this bitch was out of his room he'd sit down with Mr. Jones and explain the facts of life to him.

Minutes passed before the woman stepped out of the restroom. Her shoes were on her feet. She'd washed her face, and the makeup was cleaned away from her eyes. He looked at her eyes closely for the first time and noticed that they were hazel. His breath caught in his throat, hell, now he knew what had drawn him to her. It wasn't the fucking huge ass boobs that were hanging on her. It was those damn eyes. If he concentrated on those eyes, he could have sworn it was Lydia behind them. He was sure that in his drunken state he'd ridden that Lydia train as soon as he seen those eyes. He felt his heart tug at him slightly, and he felt the need for a drink, and maybe a good hit of something, anything to kill that emotion that was trying to stir up inside of him. He didn't have any use for it, and he damn sure didn't have the fucking time.

She was moving towards the door, apparently aware that she was better off not to say anything.

"You got money for a bus or a cab to get home?" Jones grunted from the bed where he was still struggling with getting his shirt turned right.

"I'll walk." Her voice came out soft, and quiet. "But thank you." She grabbed for the door knob and tried to turn it, but apparently it was locked. She fumbled with the lock, and seemed to be having trouble getting it to turn in the right direction.

Jones reached for his pants and found they were turned right. He slipped his feet into them and stood, pulling them up his legs. He fastened them quickly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fifty dollar bill. He stepped over to the door and grabbed her hand. He pushed the bill into her palm, and then reached to unlock the door.

"I'm not a fucking whore." The woman grabbed his hand once it had unlocked the door, and pushed the money right back into it. "I thought we were just two people who needed some company. That's what we both said last night anyway." She reached for the door and this time managed to pull it open. "Sorry, I guess I misunderstood." She walked out of the room, pulling the door closed hard after her, slamming it in his face.

Jeff Jones stood there, with the money in his hand, staring at the door for along moment. An emotion was trying to work its way up to his throat, and his mind flashed a picture of Adam Macks' wife walking out another door in a very similar fashion, with a small child in her arms, walking away from him. He felt a tear slide down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly and walked back to his shirt. He managed to get it on, though it was still wrong side out and despite the throbbing head and lack of coordination that had over taken him. He found his shoes and stuffed his feet into them, grabbed the car keys off of the dresser and walked out the door.

He squinted against the morning sun blinding the world as it hit the snow that was still covering the most of the ground. He could see her walking west, down the sidewalk. He made his way to the car and got in. He didn't know why the hell he felt he had to do this. He didn't know why he fucking cared what the hell happened to her. He just didn't feel as if he could let her walk home alone. Not after fucking her. Damn, this Jeff Jones was going to take a lot of getting used to. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, driving up the street in the same direction she was heading. He pulled over to the curb when he reached her and rolled the automatic window down. "At least let me drive you home." He called out to her.

She glanced over at him and the obvious tear tracks going down her face reflected back the sunshine hitting her face. "No thank you." She continued walking.

"Come on, I'm sorry." Jones called out and drove slowly next to her.

"Screw you." She kept walking.

"I'm fucking hung over, that's all. I'm sorry." He pushed. "Come on, you don't need to walk home in the cold, you'll end up fucking sick."

"I'm fine Mr. Jones. Don't worry about me. You go on back to your room and get yourself to feeling better." She looked as if she were about to shed more tears.

Jones gave the car a little bit of gas, just enough to get ahead of her. He stopped the car, put it in park, jumped out and ran around the front of it to pull the passenger's door open just as she reached him. "Come on, I feel awful, really. I'm sorry." He didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him. He could hear himself saying the words. He could see himself making a fucking fool out of himself, but he couldn't stop it from happening.

She looked at him, and appeared to swallow back the fresh tears that were trying to work their way out. "Really, there's no need. We agreed that this would be a one night thing. We both knew that. I can deal with it, can't you?" She sounded almost angry. "Just leave me the hell alone." She pushed past him and continued walking.

Jeff Jones turned and watched her moving away from him. He felt an aching in his chest. It was a familiar sensation, but one that he'd fought down for most of his life. He seemed to always drive away the people that he could care about. The one person he had truly loved had walked away from him the same way, more than once. He'd found a way to hold onto her, at least for a while, and then he'd found he cared more for other things, the money and the control. Hell, it had been intoxicating. He enjoyed feeling like ice inside; it was safe, and easy. He liked the feeling of having the control, and the power over people; it was how he managed to become important.

Jones slammed the door closed and walked back around the car, and got in behind the wheel. He looked at her retreating form. She had walked away from him as if he was nothing, and that stirred a fire inside, one that was just as familiar as that aching he'd felt just a moment before.

Jeff Jones was too fucking soft. He had to toughen up, and be more like Macks. He felt the anger building. The bitch had just walked away as if he was nothing but a piece of shit to be wiped off the bottom of her shoe. He still had the car in park, but he revved the engine hard. He could picture himself hitting the gas hard, speeding down the street and up onto the sidewalk, running that fucking bitch into the ground. Who the hell did she think she was? It occured to him then that he didn't even know her name.

The sound of a car horn behind him brought him out of his thoughts. That was just what he fucking needed, to be a public spectacle. He shoved the gear shift into drive and moved up the street enough to wait for a break in the traffic before pulling a u-turn and heading back to the motel. If he seen the bitch again, he'd show her just who the hell he was, and that he wasn't anyone to be screwed around with. Damn, he needed a cigarette.

* * *

Craig felt Bobby pulling away from him. "Come on, you take these." The man spoke quietly, easing off his hold and reaching out in front of him with one hand.

Craig was still crying hard, and he turned his head to see Jack standing in front of them holding a glass of milk and cupping his hand, obviously cradling pills. "I don't want them." He tried to pull away from Bobby, taking advantage of the fact that the man had loosened his hold on him.

Bobby had been reaching for the pills and milk when Craig made his move, but one arm was still around the boy, and it tightened as soon as Craig moved, pulling him back to where he'd been only a moment before. "You ain't goin' anywhere Craig; now stop trying to get away from me." Bobby's voice was loud. "I ain't playin' no more fucking games. You need to have some kind of a meltdown, then fine, you go right ahead, but you're gonna do it right here, and you're gonna do it my way. You're gonna take these pills and then you are gonna start telling me what the hell you think you're doin'!"

Craig tried to dodge Bobby's other hand, which was coming at him with the pills. He started to cry out, but the instant he did Bobby slapped his hand over his open mouth, succeeding in popping the pills in as he did. He didn't pull his hand away; he kept it pressed in place. Craig tried to twist his head away, but Bobby's hand moved with him, not budging one bit. He tried to cry out, but the sound met with Bobby's hand and seemed to stop right there.

"You need to swallow those now." Bobby spoke loud; his voice seemed to be right in Craig's ear. "They are gonna start to dissolve and it will taste like shit. You swallow them and then you can drink the milk."

Craig squeezed his eyes closed. He wasn't going to give in, not this time. He couldn't. He was trying to keep some control, just a little, and Bobby was taking it all away from him. It wasn't right. He hated his brother at that moment. He hated him and he wanted to get as far away from him as he could. He continued to twist, and squirm against Bobby's hold, but it did no good. He could feel the pills in his mouth starting to break down, and the bitter, chalky feel of the medication seemed to fill his mouth instantly. He felt his throat gag on him, and Bobby only pushed his hand harder to his mouth.

"Just swallow it Craig." Bobby sounded almost calm, but his voice was loud enough to penetrate the boy's muffled cries.

Craig stopped struggling and gave in. He swallowed at the taste in his mouth and the half dissolved pills were pulled down his throat.

Bobby used his hand to pull Craig's face towards him. "Good." He seemed to be able to tell that Craig had swallowed. "You want the milk now?" He asked.

Craig managed to nod his head slightly. Bobby pulled his hand away and reached out to Jack to take the milk. He held it up to Craig's mouth and let him drink it in big gulps.

"I hope that milk is enough to keep you from throwing up those pills, because I don't feel like forcing food down you like this. When I tell you that you're gonna do something, you'd better do it. It will save us both a lot of shit. Don't you think?" Bobby handed Jack the glass once Craig had managed to drink the whole thing. "Are you gonna lay your ass down here and calm down or do I need to hold you down?" He asked.

Craig squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head slowly. "I'll lay down." He muttered through the tears.

Bobby eased his arm from around him and stood slowly. He sat down on the coffee table, staring at the boy. "Don't make me force you to lay down there. You do it on your own."

Craig opened his eyes, but he avoided looking at Bobby. He pulled his self down the couch to the pillow at the end and pulled his legs up on the couch. He laid on his side, wrapped his arms around his stomach and stared at the edge of the coffee table. He didn't want to look at any of his brothers. He could sense that Angel was in the doorway leading to the foyer, and Jack was standing on the other side of the coffee table, still holding the glass in his hand. He was sure they all thought he was crazy now. They had to think he'd completely gone insane. They had to think it, because that's exactly how he felt. He had wanted to be by himself so that he could control it, and stop it from coming out like this. His control was gone now, and he could feel the panic inside swelling up. What if he lost it completely, worse than any of his brothers expected and they hated him in the end? He knew most of what he was feeling didn't make sense, it didn't make sense to him, and if he didn't understand it, how could they?

"You're gonna calm down here before we do anything else." Bobby leaned over towards him. "I'll tell you right now, if you disobey me again, I won't be so fucking nice about it. I'll make sure you remember how to behave in this house. Do you understand me?" His voice as quiet and he didn't sound as angry as Craig expected him to be.

Craig let his eyes shift to look at Bobby and the tears increased. "I'm sorry." He managed to get the words out. "I didn't mean to."

"Don't you start that shit, you meant to, and you ain't gonna get out of explaining it to us by using that line." Angel was the one who spoke. He moved from the doorway to the nearest chair. "You're in for one hell of an afternoon youngster, so you'd best be getting your shit straight before you open your mouth."

Craig glanced at Angel, and then looked at Bobby again. He waited for him to say something more, but he didn't, not yet. He turned his attention back to the corner of the coffee table and drew in a shaky breath. Shit, this wasn't fair, it wasn't going to help him, but how could he tell them that? At the same time he wanted it, deep down.

He wanted Bobby to make it better, to take away the confusion, to explain it to him. Still, he was terrified of what was about to happen. He was terrified of losing all control, and not just part of it; he was afraid of what he might say. More than anything, he was terrified that it would get worse, and not better. He could feel himself being pulled into too many different directions, and it was making it all that more confusing to him.


	10. Chapter 10

Let me know your thoughts, and thanks for reading, as always, I appreciate it :)

Legal statement still counts.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Facing Demons**

Bobby watched the boy stare off into space and prayed to God the fear he was feeling inside didn't show on his face. He couldn't let Craig know he was unsure of what he was doing. Was this right? Was this the best way to deal with Craig right now? He'd been to hell and back and now Bobby was planning on making him tell them about every single minute of it. He was gonna make him tell him everything that son of a bitch did to him, every touch, every word he spoke, and he was going to have to act like an ass with him to get him to say it. He didn't want this, he was trying to think of another way to get the same results, but he couldn't think of anything else. If they waited Craig out, the boy would pull further into himself and hide from it. The longer they left him to himself the easier it would be for him to bury every thing deeper, letting it eat away at him, Bobby knew that, and he couldn't stand to watch his little brother being eaten alive inside. Silently, in the back of his mind he begged his mother to tell him what the hell to do right then. What was he supposed to do to make it better?

He had to have some grasp of what he was dealing with. What Macks did and said to Craig was a complete mystery, but it had changed something inside of him. It was as if the light in his soul had gone out and that was more than Bobby could stand. The idea that Macks had put his hands on his little brother was almost more than he could stand, but this went deeper than that and he had to find out why. He had to know details before he could make it right and it wasn't going to be easy, it was going to be the hardest thing he'd done in a long while.

"I need a beer." Jack muttered and turned to walk through the dining room to the kitchen.

"Yeah, bring one for me too, would you?" Bobby asked without looking away from the boy lying on the couch.

"It's barely noon." Angel muttered.

"It's close enough." Bobby commented.

"Bring one for me too Jack?" Angel leaned forward in his chair to call out to Jack who was already out of sight.

Bobby kept his stare fixed on the teenager in front of him. He wondered just what kind of thoughts were running through his head right then. What the hell was he so afraid of? He knew some facts, not details, and trying to put some kind of picture to it seemed to be impossible. How could he possibly imagine what one second in Macks' presence had felt like for the kid? That man had stolen his childhood from him, and though Craig hadn't told him details, no one had told him details, he had an idea of the things that Macks had done to him. The man had killed his mother, in front of him when he was six. He'd tried to kill Craig, a small boy, and had nearly succeeded from what Bobby had been able to piece together, but he knew so little about what had happened.

Hell, he didn't even know what the son of a bitch looked like, not really. He had chased him through the snow and ice, and had watched as Angel put a bullet in the son of a bitch while he was diving for Craig, trying to grab hold of him before he was pulled into the water. Macks had spun around when the bullet impacted, but his face was nothing more than a blur in his mind. He was sure Angel hadn't gotten a good view of it either, not as quickly as that moment had played out on the dock, it would have been impossible.

To think that that a psycho like that could still be alive and out there somewhere watching them, making an attempt to get close to the kid was bad enough, but to know it was possible and not even know what he looked like seemed to make it worse. How was he supposed to keep his family, especially Craig, safe from a threat that he couldn't even identify?

How was he supposed to know if the next total stranger to walk past him on the street was Adam Macks? For all he knew he'd talked to the man and didn't even know it. A bum on the street asking for a handout, or a customer behind him in the line at the store; he was around strange people every day in different places. For all he knew Adam Macks had been standing next to him at some point in time and he never would have known it. Angel could have had contact with him without knowing, or Jerry. Hell, Camille and the girls weren't safe, Sofi wasn't safe.

Jack and Craig he could keep cooped up in the house away from the public, safe from that threat, but he wouldn't be able to do that for much longer. Jack had snuck out with Angel just the night before, and they could both have been followed by the threat he was trying to keep them safe from. As his mind pondered all of this, trying to give Craig the chance to stop shaking and crying, he was sure he could hear his mother's voice, barely a whisper, right next to him, telling him exactly what he needed to do.

Craig seemed to be lost in thought, or trying to block out the presence of his brothers, Bobby wasn't sure which it was. He was still crying, and Bobby could see his body trembling, as if he was terrified. His heart constricted hard, and he had second thoughts about what he was about to do. He turned and looked at Angel. "Do me a favor and keep him on this couch. I'll be right back." He spoke quickly before he lost his nerve.

He stood as Angel nodded his head, and walked to the stairs. He moved up them two at a time and went to Jack's room, heading straight for the closet. He wasn't sure why his own hand was shaking as he opened the door, reaching to the shelf above and shoving some boxes to the side to reveal the box he'd stashed up there a week earlier. He pulled it down and cradled it in his arms, looking at the paper pads inside. He could tell most of them had been used by a small child; the paper was colored and seemed to have a rainbow effect along the edges. They gave away the age that Craig had been when he'd first started drawing his memories out on paper to share with his mother. The others in the box were more like the sketch pad Craig carried around with him now, as if his life depended on having it close to him.

Bobby hadn't understood it at first, but it was making more sense to him now, and he was sure the books of paper in that box were going to hold some clues to what was going on in the kid's head right then. It was about time Craig learned to share with his brothers. It was about time all those fucking memories came out and were dealt with. Hiding them away in books of paper wasn't doing him any good, and if they started with these, maybe the new memories that were eating away at him would be easier to pull out of him. More importantly, Adam Macks' face was going to be in these pages, he was sure of that. He had to know the face of the evil that had touched his little brother and fucked up his family's lives.

Bobby left the closet door hanging open and headed back down to the living room. Angel was taking a long gulp from a bottle of beer, and Jack was standing next to him with a beer in each hand.

Bobby walked over to the coffee table and dropped the box onto it with a slight thud. It was enough to pull Craig's eyes away from whatever he'd managed to fix his gaze on in his attempt to not look at anyone else. Bobby reached for his beer from Jack and took a long drink while watching Craig turn his sights on the box.

Bobby watched as a shadow seemed to cross over the boy's face. His features were unreadable, but the look in his eyes was fear. Bobby glanced at Angel's and Jack's puzzled expressions and drew in a deep breath. "I figured the best place for us to start is the beginning."

Jack stepped up to the box and looked inside. He reached his free hand into the box and picked up one of the pads. He looked at the cover. "They're dated. That's Mom's printing." He muttered.

"Yeah, let's get them in order and start with the first one." Bobby nodded and reached into the box himself. He picked up a pad and looked at the date. "They should be close to being in order; I kept the dates as straight as I could when I put them in the box." He held the cover up to face Jack, who took it.

Jack took on the task of going through the box and putting the dates in order. He put the first two on the coffee table, but set the other's up on their side in the box, the earliest dates in the front. Angel slid his chair up next to the box and picked a couple of the pads up, looking at the dates in an attempt to help Jack, but he seemed to be making the sorting more difficult. Jack grabbed the paper books from him and smacked at one of his hands. "Just leave it be. I'll get it." He took a drink from his beer and shook his head.

Craig sat up slowly, his eyes fixed on the pads on the table. His brain seemed to be locked on their presence. Bobby wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Craig had wanted to go through these pads before, but now he looked as if the contents were taboo to him. The man wished the boy would say something that would let him know which direction the sketch pads were pulling him. Was this the right move, or was it foolish? Was he going to be helping the kid or making it all worse?

Bobby took another drink of his beer and walked around the table. He sat down on the couch next to Craig and reached for the pad of paper with the first date. "June, ninety eight," He read the neatly printed date as he studied the cardboard cover. It was brightly colored with pictures of crude looking cars and trees sprinkled around the edges. "How old were you when Mom brought you home? Seven?" He looked at Craig. "She didn't bring you home until August though." He commented. "She spent a lot of time with you when you were at St. Vincent's, didn't she?"

Craig looked at Bobby and the tears seemed to have started a new surge. "You can't that. They're mine." His voice sounded weak, and small.

"You wanted to look at them before, remember? Now we're gonna look through all of them. When we're done with this box I'll go get the others, and we're gonna go through every single one of them, right up to the one in that desk." Bobby pointed to his right, to the desk tucked away in the corner.

"You can't do that! They're mine!" Craig's voice came out with more force than Bobby expected. He sounded pissed, but more than that he sounded panicked, as if the secrets in the books had the ability to reach out and harm him in some way.

Bobby felt his heart tearing in two. He couldn't back out of this. He had to see what was on the papers in front of him. He had to make Craig explain them to him and make him deal with them. There was going to be no more hiding his memories in books of paper and tucking them away safely in some closet, playing the game that they were would be harmless there. They weren't harmless; they were like demons that had to be exorcised from their home.

Bobby drew in a deep breath and reached over to Craig with his left hand, grabbing his arm and pulling him close to him. "You want to tell me about these?" He acted as if he was able to ignore the desperation written all over the boy's face, though it was ripping his heart out. "Come on, you tell me about the pictures. Explain them to me, to all of us." He waved the pad in his other hand towards Angel and Jack. "Let us in on your secrets Craig, we can't help you if you don't let us." He kept his voice steady and firm, trying to show his brother that there wasn't a choice for him, he was going to talk, and he was going to tell them everything they needed to know, beginning with the first picture he'd ever put down on the paper.

Craig tried to pull away from Bobby, tried to move away from the pads of paper that seemed to be too close to him. Bobby gave him a hard jerk, not willing to give into his own desire to take the easy way out of the whole mess. He was going to get this boy to talk, one way or another, and at the same time he was going to find out what the devil his self looked like.

* * *

Craig felt the panic twisting up in his gut. He felt his head trying to swim with dizziness and he felt the need to get the hell away from his brother, away from the memories laying on his lap, all closed up inside that pad of paper. He could feel the pressure inside building up, his defenses beginning to fail him. The fear was building, the memories were surging, and he wanted to lash out at Bobby and fight him until he released his hold on him so that he could get away from the past that was about to be opened up before him. Another part of him wanted to shrink back into the couch and disapear from the world. He didn't want anyone to look at him, or see him, or know what he was, what his father had turned him into.

Jack seemed to sense what Craig was feeling, and stepped carefully around the table, sliding onto the couch on Craig's free side, successfully sandwiching him in. He rested an arm on the back of the couch behind Craig and leaned in close to him. "You remember what I told you before? Remember when I told you what I do when things get hard and I start feeling scared?" He kept his voice quiet as he tilted his head down closer to Craig. "I play my music. I talk to my brothers a lot too. They help me more than anything else. They did more for me than anything else I ever tried, and believe me, I tried a lot of shit to get away from the memories I got in my head. You gotta trust your brothers Craig; you gotta give us a chance."

Craig turned and looked at Jack, the checker game they had played came back to his mind, and the talk that had taken place during the game rushed into his head, every word, every emotion that he'd felt, and the feeling that he really wasn't alone in the way he was feeling. Jack knew how he felt, he had been through it, and he'd survived it. Did that mean he could survive it? Could he survive Bobby opening up his sketch pads and reaching into his most horrible memories? He wasn't sure if he could face his brothers if they knew all of the horrible things he'd done and seen. It wasn't exactly the same with him and Jack. Jack had been at the mercy of a stranger, not his own flesh and blood father.

"You can't run from it, remember? I tried that and it didn't work. You can't hide from it either. You gotta face it, and you gotta let us help." Jack's voice remained calm and quiet.

"Hell, you have no idea what kind of hell Cracker Jack put us through." Angel laughed quietly as he moved from his chair, stepped over the table and sat on it, careful not to side on the pads on top of it. "He was our little brother though, and we would have done anything to try to make him feel better." He spoke seriously that time. "And we'd do it all over again, and we'd do the same shit all over again for you too, broken bones and all." He held his splinted arm up.

Craig thought about the words Jack had spoken during their checker game. His life had been close to his own in so many ways. The only real difference was that it was his own father that had stolen his innocence when he was small. It was his own father that had broken his spirit and stolen his soul from him. Jack had been at the mercy of a foster father, a prisoner in his home. He'd been locked in a closet, the same as Craig had been. He'd been forced to do the same things, and he'd said that Nate had broken his spirit, just as Adam Macks had done with him. He turned and looked up at Jack. "Did he steal your soul?" He asked weakly, unable to keep the questsion in. If Jack understood the question, then maybe there was hope for him to get past it, like Jack had.

Jack seemed to lose his breath for a moment. He finally drew in air deeply and shook his head. "No. I thought he did, but I found out that's something no one can steal from you. It's always there, inside you. It might hide for a little while, to keep from hurting so bad, but it never leaves you, no matter what you think." Jack spoke carefully.

Bobby reached up and took hold of Craig's chin, pulling his face around to look at him. "Is that what you think that son of a bitch did? You think he stole your soul from you?" He asked carefully.

Craig opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He wanted to tell Bobby that was exactly what happened, he'd felt his soul being ripped out of him when he'd finally given up fighting against the will of the man who held so much control over him; but no words formed on his lips and his throat tightened up on him.

"Craig, he can't take that from you, we kept that right here with us the whole time we were looking for you." Bobby shook his head. "We kept it right here, safe and sound." He let go of Craig's chin and moved his hand to his own chest, patting carefully over his heart. "We always keep that safe for you, don't you know that?"

Craig felt his chest swell up, and he felt a million thoughts trying to get out in the form of words, but it only came out as an agonizing, long, drawn out sob. He felt Bobby grab him and pull him close, sliding his arm around him. He felt his face fall into Bobby's shirt and he got the scent of the laundry detergent that he had come to associate with his brother, and the security he provided. "He hurt me." He cried out. "He put me in the closet and the bugs were crawling on me." He let the words come out. He was confusing the most resent torture his father had inflicted with the past events that had formed the nightmare of his childhood long before he'd been a Mercer, and the voice that came out seemed to belong to the small child that had endured life as Adam Macks' son all those years before. The wall he'd put up to block in the memories and the confusing emotions seemed to give, crumbling under the pressure. His right hand reached for his left arm to dig at the thousands of tiny legs he could feel moving around there, itching at his skin.

Bobby was quiet for a long moment. "Did you draw that in one of the books?" He asked carefully. "Can you show it to me?" He pulled his arm tight around the boy, grabbing hold of his right wrist and pulling it back so that he couldn't dig at himself.

"I can't." Craig shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed as the memory of the closet came back to the front of his mind, but it wasn't the closet from his younger years, it was the one most recent, the one he woke up in with his head hurting so bad.

Bobby gave him a few moments before pulling him back, and making him look towards the pad in his lap. "Come on, you can show me what's in the book, can't you? You tell all about it." His arm encircled Craig around his shoulders, holding him in a way that there was no chance of turning away from what Bobby wanted him to see. "We'll start at the beginning, and we'll work all the way up to right here and now. That way we can really help you, with all of it. Cause we can't help you with what he did to you last week unless we know everything Craig, do you understand that?"

Craig shook his head slowly. "I don't want to look at those. I don't want to remember." He shook his head. "It's too hard."

Bobby let the pad rest in his lap and opened up the cover, revealing the first page. A crude crayon rendition of what looked like a woman and a man standing side by side on the page stared back at them.

Angel leaned over and looked at the thick blue and red markings on the page. "Those don't look too fucking scary to me." He looked at Craig, "Who is that?" He pointed to the figure wearing a dress.

"My mom," Craig muttered as he looked at the work his six year old self had managed all those years ago when he'd been secluded from other people at St. Vincent's. His mind seemed to spin back in time, to when he'd drawn it. He hadn't been crying like a small child, he hadn't even been thinking about the terrible thing that had happened to his mother. He'd been remembering a time when his mother and father seemed to like each other, just a little, and had talked to each other, a time before his father had been so bad. He'd always been scary, and he'd always hurt him, but there had been a whisper of a memory of him seeming almost nice to him and his mother. Maybe it had been him wishing how things had been more than an actual memory, he wasn't sure, but that's what he'd been feeling when he drew the picture.

"Who is this?" Angel pointed to the other figure on the page.

"My dad," Craig felt his voice catch in his throat. Somehow the tears were slacking off a little. The emotions were loose inside him now, but he wasn't feeling the panic that he was so used to overtaking him, in fact his mind seemed to be clouding over slightly, and a comforting, warming numbness seemed to be rising inside of him. "He used to give her flowers." He let the words come out weakly. "That was before he started coming to my room."

Bobby turned the page, and Craig stared at the large scribble of solid black crayon that covered most of the page. "What was that supposed to be?" He asked quietly.

"That's my dad." Craig's stare fixed on the set of legs that stuck out at the bottom of the black cloud he'd covered the image with. "He started coming to my room." He felt the pain from his father's touch penetrate his whole body and he tried to pull away from Bobby. "I don't want to look." He sounded small and helpless, even to himself, and though he normally would be mentally kicking himself in the ass for sounding like a small child, he didn't care at that moment. He just wanted to get away from the memories the drawings were stirring up inside his brain.

"Craig, we're gonna do this." Bobby didn't let him move. "Don't make it harder than it has to be." His voice was loud and stern sounding.

Craig felt his entire body shiver as Bobby turned him back towards the picture.

"He came to your room." Bobby looked at him for a moment and looked back at the scribbling, solid black. "What did he do Craig?" He asked.

"He hurt my throat." Craig muttered, not able to think of any other words. "And he hurt my…" Craig's voice caught in his throat and he couldn't complete his thoughts as the memory came back.

Bobby reached up to Craig's face and pulled it up to look at him. "He's not here. He's can't do anything now. I'm here, and I am not going to let him get close to you again. Do you understand that? But you have to tell me what the hell that son of a bitch did. You gotta tell me what he did to you when you were little, and you gotta tell me everything that happened last week. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. So we are going to go through all of these pictures, and you are going to talk about them. When we're done, I'll know what to do to keep your safe. Okay?" He was using that voice, the same one he seemed to be able to pull out when he could tell Craig was feeling small and helpless; the voice that gave him a sense of being safe and protected.

Craig nodded his head slowly and swallowed at the tears that were still coming. They weren't wracking at his insides the same as they had been earlier, but they wouldn't stop flowing. He wasn't going to get out of this; he didn't have the energy inside him to fight against it, though he would have if the drugs he'd been given a short time before hadn't started to take effect. He watched as Bobby turned the page once more…


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks for the reviews, they are all appreciated more than any of you know! Let me know your thoughts on this one, and if anyone has any ideas let me know, I might be able to use them :)

Still don't own, make no money.

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**Chapter 11: Pictures of Hell**

Adam Macks stood in front of the mirror in the tiny rest room of his motel room. He had taken a shower, and was feeling better now than he had that morning. He had gotten over the still half drunk feeling that had disrupting his judgment. He had actually felt something that morning, something he hadn't felt in a long time, and he wasn't happy about it.

When he'd returned to his room he had removed every aspect of Jeff Jones from his face and taken a long, hot shower. He'd downed the last of the pain pills the doc' had given him, laid down on the bed with the television on at a low, barely audible level, and slept for another six hours.

Now he was mentally screaming at Jeff Jones for falling into that trap of feeling, that pit of caring about other people. He had learned a long time ago not to care about what his actions did to other people. He didn't need guilt, it was useless. If what he did got him what he needed why the hell should he care who he hurt?

He could remember a time when he cared, and it hadn't gotten him anywhere. His parents had disowned him, had put him out on the streets with no money and no job, with a kid on the way. Hell, he'd been a smart young man. He had plans, and a future. He'd let his feelings get in the way. He'd fallen for a woman, he'd fallen for a life that had been kept hidden from him most of his life, and she had pulled him into it full speed, the drugs, the drinking, the sex with her.

He hadn't expected it all to crash around him in devastation, but it did. He'd lost himself, he'd been so fucking wrapped around her and what he felt for her that he'd lost everything. He'd lost his freedom, he'd lost his ability to think of anything else except the life she'd drawn him into, and his stupid ass hadn't seen it coming, he'd let it happen. He hadn't had any control over his life when he was young, still living with his parents. He hadn't had any control over his life after he met her, she had taken full control of him, whether she intended to or not, whether he could admit it back then or not, she had all of the control. Her eyes had drawn him in, and her eyes held him captive to her. He had lost himself in her, and her world, and it had eaten him alive. He'd embraced it fully, until the drugs and the booze had eaten away most of his ability use the brains God had given him.

He hadn't wanted a kid, he would have been happy to get rid of the bastard. She'd wanted it, and that had been good enough for him. He didn't like to admit it now, but the idea of being a father had been a little exciting. He'd imagined being a better father to his son than his father had been to him. He wasn't going to fuck with the kid's head, that's what he'd told himself back then, before the brat was actually born. He was gonna tuck him into bed at night and leave him alone, he wasn't going to sneak in at night and fuck with him, sticking his dick up his ass and making up stories about how it was his fault he had to do that to him. He was gonna let his kid have a real life, a normal life. Well, as normal a life as two drugged up parents could provide for him. He sure as hell wasn't going hold him down and force himself on him, turning him into nothing but a his own personal bitch. That's what he'd promised himself.

That plan seemed to slip away into the fog of reality as time wore on. He had to sell the dope to make enough money to put fucking diapers on the boy, and all that ungrateful brat could do in return was scream out half of the night, drawing his woman out of his bed to go and coddle him, spoil him, feeding him at all hours, and bringing him to their bed, to comfort him when he wouldn't shut the fuck up. All the while she left her husband to his self, letting him suckle on a whiskey bottle rather than her.

He figured out early he had to be hard on the kid, to keep her coddling from turning him into a sissified little shit. He realized then why his father had been so fucking hard on him, he had to be. Mothers weren't any fucking good for a boy. They turned them into weak minded, sniveling little shits, wanting to hugged on and kissed on.

He had fought off the urge to take control of his son's rearing. He had fought it off by drowning the temptation in the drugs, and the business of making money. He'd struggled against his desires for a long time; all the while watching the bitch indulge the brat's every whim. She let him sleep too much; she didn't make him obey when he was told to do something. He didn't care how young he was, he wasn't gonna learn if he wasn't disciplined right and it had to start when he was young. He had to do that, he didn't have a choice, but his form of discipline didn't meet her approval. She told him you didn't lock a three year old in a closet for dropping a glass of water on the floor. You didn't push him under a tub of water for not coming when you called him. You didn't knock the shit out of him when he was making too much noise.

He had quickly stopped caring about being a father, and had only wanted to be a husband. He had never wanted the brat to start with, and it was obvious he wasn't supposed to be his father. She wouldn't let him be a father. She wanted him to sit on the fucking floor and play with him, but she didn't like it if he yelled at him when he didn't act right. He knew she damn sure wouldn't like it if she caught him sliding the kid's hand down his pants and telling where to grab, and how to hold it.

He had to hide it from her when he took control of that kid. He drank more, and he did more of the dope he usually brought home for her. He made sure to have enough of the shit on hand to keep her out of his way when he really started taking his control. He took what was his, his boy. He had to get it somehow; she stopped giving it to him so much.

Then she left him, and that had been the start of the end, he knew that. He had wanted her back so bad. He had loved her, and he missed her when she wasn't there, even if she hadn't been in his bed like she had been in the beginning. She had wanted to get her life cleaned up, get away from the drugs that her veins ached for constantly, and yet he had lured her back with some real good shit. She hadn't wanted it at first, but he made promises. He made promises that he had every intention of keeping. He was gonna clean up his act and get a real job. He loved her; he wanted her and needed her.

She had come back, and she had held him to his word. When he couldn't get a real job he'd had to go back to the old work, the drugs and the pimpin'. She had fallen back into her old habits too. It was like a roller coaster after that. He wanted her with him, but as time wore on, it was more the need to have the boy. He made him money. He found the need for the money and the control outweighed the need for love and companionship. His feelings turned to ice and he didn't need to care about anyone or anything after he'd reached that point. He had all he needed in the money, the power, the control.

The years seemed to pass in a flurry of her leaving, and him getting her back; of handing his son over to the highest paying clients, teaching him how to make them happy, giving him his lessons personally every night so that he could do his job through the day, hitting the highest priced dope, and drinking the booze day and night, numbing everything inside so that he didn't have to think about the hell he was putting his own flesh and blood through. He didn't want to care. He didn't want to care about the kid, or what he was doing to him, or how much like his own father he had become. In fact, he was worse than that man had ever been, he knew that, and he made himself do more and more so that he could brag about how much worse he had become, outshining the filth his father had been.

The bottom line was the kid was his. He'd fucked the woman to make the kid; he'd gone through the hell of losing her to that brat. He'd endured the hell of having to kill her because of him.

He could still remember waking up in the jail cell, not sure exactly what had happened the night before. He thought at first he'd been caught in some sort of police raid, he didn't remember what he'd done in his drug induced rage. He didn't remember it at first. When it came to him, initially, he'd felt a twinge of something in his chest, and he'd actually puked all over the floor of the cell. That was the last time he'd allowed himself to feel anything. He wasn't about to start feeling any kind of shit now. He refused to.

The only emotion that was worth anything to him right now was the rage that was burning inside of him. He needed to get his son back, needed that control over him. He was gonna turn him into his own fucking bitch if it was the last thing he did, that kid had ruined his life, and by God he was going to pay for it one fuck at a time.

Macks' eyes bore holes into his reflection. "You hear me Jones?" He spoke quietly. "No more bringing any sluts home from bars. No more letting yourself care about what you might have done to hurt that bitch. She fucking turned her back on you like you was nothing, you got that? The next fuck you get is gonna be my boy, and he's gonna be happy to do it." He reached for his contacts and started to let Jones out of the box he'd been keeping him in for the few hours he'd been recuperating from his hangover. One piece at a time Jeff Jones came to life in front of him. Eyes, teeth, the instant face lift. It all brought Jones out in the reflection before him.

"No, no more sluts. No more slipping up. No more remembering." He could hear the change in his voice as Jones came out. He was sure he could hear regret weaved into the words. There seemed to be a softer side to Jones that was going to need a hell of a lot more work.

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Craig held his breath as the page on the pad turned. The outline of a tree peered back at him. He shivered when he looked at the brown trunk of the tree and the green swirls that were supposed to be the leaves blanketing the top of it. A sun had been drawn in the top left corner of the page, but it had been marked in black. He looked down at the straight green line that ran along the bottom, grass, the ground; he wasn't sure now what he had intended it to be. A tiny house had been drawn with more brown on the bottom right of the page, tucked neatly under the tree.

"Now, that's a normal picture." Angel spoke quietly. "I like that one."

Craig could feel Angel's eyes on him. "My mom left him, and he couldn't come in my room anymore." He reached up and wiped at the tears running down his cheeks. "But he came back." He knew what the next picture was, and he didn't want to see it. "Bobby, please don't?" He turned his head away from the paper, squeezing his eyes closed. He tried to pull free from Bobby, needing to get away from what his brother was about to uncover.

"Hey, just relax. These pictures can't hurt you." Bobby tightened his hold.

Craig didn't turn to look, but he heard the paper moving under Bobby's guidance.

"What is this?" Bobby asked.

Craig didn't look, "Water." He barely got the words out as his mind raced back through time to the image of his father's distorted form looking down at him through the water, holding him there. He could remember the burning in his lungs, the need to suck in air, but nothing but water rushing in when so much time had passed that he couldn't hold it in any longer. His legs kicking in desperation, the fear that overwhelmed him when the water filled his lungs and they continued to try to pull air in, no way of pushing the water out, no way of getting away from the stars that would dance around him as he started to pass out. Then the sudden jerk straight up, out of the freezing water, landing on the floor where his father tossed him. The coughing that took over once he was tossed onto the floor hard enough to break bones and bruise parts of his body.

"What else is it?" Bobby gave him a slight squeeze.

Craig shook his head slowly. "I couldn't breathe." He barely got the words out. "He wouldn't let me out, and he waited until I couldn't hold my breath." He didn't think he could say anything more than that. "That's what he did when I made too much noise." He heard the words coming out. "I wasn't allowed to cry. It hurt, and I wasn't allowed to let it show. People like hurting you, and you have to take it, and keep quiet."

"He held you under the water?" Jack asked from somewhere on the other side of his eyelids. He still couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to look at any of them.

"Well, he won't be doing that anymore." Bobby spoke in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "Will he?"

Craig felt more tears falling. "He's not dead." He muttered.

"We don't know that." Angel spoke quickly. "I think he's at the bottom of that fucking pond, frozen solid until the spring thaw."

"A fitting place for him, don't you think? Stuck under a bunch of water?" He pulled on Craig. "Look at me." He wasn't asking, and he was expecting Craig to listen to him, the boy could tell by the tone of his voice and the feel of his arm tightening slightly around him. "Open your eyes and look at me."

Craig opened his eyes slowly, avoiding looking at the paper. "Bobby, please?" He begged, not looking at the man. He couldn't do this, he wasn't ready for this, and he didn't want feel the emotions that were pouring out of him. He was well drugged, he could tell, and he hated the feeling of it, it seemed to have drained him of his own will. He just wanted to lie down and hide from everything by crawling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Bobby wanted to make him face the old memories that had come back to him full force while he'd been with his father not so long ago, and it seemed too fresh in his mind, though it had been years.

"I said look at me." Bobby's voice rose slightly. "There are rules that you gotta go by Craig. You look at us when we're talking to you, remember? You answer us when we say something to you. Those rules haven't changed, and you are gonna do what I fucking tell you. Don't start thinking I can't make you listen to me. You know I can."

Craig looked at Bobby, keeping his gaze up, not letting it drop to the picture. "It's too hard, I can't…"

Bobby didn't let him finish. "Yes you can. You are a Mercer, remember? You're stronger than you think." Bobby wasn't going to let him avoid looking at the picture.

"I already know what it is." Craig cried out. "I don't need to look." He tried to argue.

"You look at the fucking picture right now or so help me God Craig I'll smack the shit out of you." Bobby spoke quietly. Craig was almost sure he could hear a slight tremble in Bobby's words. His brother wasn't sure if he could carry out the threat, he could tell. "I don't want this to be like that. I want to fucking help you here, and the only way I can is for you to tell me what the hell he did to you. I need to understand what's going on inside that head of yours. You don't understand it, but maybe I can figure it out and explain it to you. Does that make any sense to you at all?" He spoke the words quickly, and Craig could see a glistening in his eyes.

"He fucked me." Craig spoke quietly. "What the hell do you think he did to me?" He felt ice coat over his words, and wasn't sure where it came from. "He held me down and he made me do things. He hit me, and he put bruises on me." The tears were still coming with each word. "He sold me. He made me go with strangers and I had to let them hit me, and put things inside of me, and make me bleed." His body started to shake. "I don't' have to look at pictures to know what he did." He tried to pull away from Bobby again. "I hate him, and I hate the way he made me feel."

Bobby pulled his arm away from him, but both of his hands came up to clamp on each side of the boy's face, holding him hard, keeping him from getting up to run from him. "You are not going to let what he did fuck you up Craig; I won't let you go there. You can't give him that much control, do you understand me?"

Craig grabbed Bobby's wrist and tried to pull his hands away from him, "Stop!" He cried out.

"No, Craig, we are going to deal with this."Bobby shook his head. Now look at the damn picture." He turned the boy's face toward the pad lying in his lap.

Craig felt the memory of the water surrounding his face rush in full strength. The picture was a very rough of a red face, and a set of red arms reaching out towards him. The water, blue crayon, had been scrawled across the image, across the entire pace, washing out most of the features of the man holding him down. He felt the scream pushing its way out of his lungs, moving up his throat and out of his mouth, but he couldn't seem to hear it.

He hit at Bobby as his skin seemed to feel the water sucking him down, weighing on his body like a lead ball, holding him down. He hit at the arms holding him, and his legs tried to stand on the floor to pull him away, but arms came up behind him, wrapping around him, and he could hear Jack's voice telling him it was okay, that he could scream all he wanted, though he couldn't hear the sound, he heard and felt the words. He felt another scream pushing out, but he hadn't stopped to pull in another lung full of air.

He felt the panic he'd thought was dormant coming to life as Angel reached out and turned the page on the pad. The blood pooling on the floor was nothing more than red wax scrawled out across the page, the image of a red woman positioned in the middle of it, the red man off to the side seemed to yell at him, screaming at him that it was his fault. He could hear Bobby's voice, wanting him to tell who the woman was, and what had happened. He tried again to pull away from Bobby, to break free of the arms that had embraced him from behind, but it did no good. The whole time he was fighting them he could hear his own voice, though he wasn't sure of what he was saying. He was saying the words, he was sure, but he couldn't hear them. It was as if he was detached from his own body, and had no control over what his brain was doing.

He felt his gut twisting up on the inside, and he knew he was going to get sick, he was sure of it. He waited for it, but it never happened. The pages turned, the questions came, and he answered them. The closet, and the bugs crawling on him, the stranger keeping him for days, the punishment for making noise, they were all there, on the papers, in crayon, bringing the vivid memories out like a raging fire releasing from his soul. He hit at Bobby harder with each turn of the page, and he screamed and cried, and tried to kick, but he answered the questions, he told them what they wanted to know. He hated himself for it, and he hated them.

When they came to the end of one pad, Angel would grab the next. The pictures seemed endless. As they went on they became better, with more details. The people he drew looked more like people and not a child's representation of what a person might be. Pictures of needles, and whiskey bottles would be followed by pictures of horses and dogs. The farm his mother had taken him to several times when she'd left the bastard he'd grown to hate so much. The mountains where they had escaped to on one of their brief breaks from the hell his father had made for him.

The scene of his mother's death seemed to return several times, in most of the sketch pads, each one showing more of the sickening sight of his mother's head blown to pieces, blood splattering on the walls, the bed, and the boy who was screaming from the bed. The man with the gun, and the look of pure hate emanating from his eyes seemed to take on different forms with each drawing, becoming closer to being real with each version.

Eventually the pictures of the hell that had been his life before Evelyn had found him gave way to different images. The foster home he'd been in before he was sent to St. Vincent's. The tiny room that had been shared by so many of the foster kids reminded him of the hot, stale air that had filled the house. The plate of cookies that had been a treat until the crumbs fell to the floor and you got into trouble for making a mess.

St. Vincent's, and the beds that lined the wall, the pictures of the other kids running and playing with each other while he was kept to the side, away from them because he was considered a danger. Though the memories weren't so horrific, he still talked about them, and cried and fought against what he was feeling. It was coming out with little prodding from his brothers. He wasn't sure he could stop it now. He felt his words, and he knew what he was saying, though he didn't want to say it.

The images of his parents would come back from time to time. As he got better with the drawing he had discovered other memories, and he had put them on the pages. His mother shooting up and then giving him a peanut butter sandwich to get him through the day before his father came home to drag him into the bedroom.

The feel of the man grabbing him hard, picking him up and putting him on the bed, on his back seemed so real it made him tremble. He made him lay his arms out to his side so that he could press his knees down on them, to hold him in place while he forced his mouth open and put that thing inside it, pushing it hard, gagging him, and then slapping him hard across the face if he did gag.

The next picture seemed to need no explanation. Evelyn Mercer sitting next to him on the floor, drawing with him. He fell silent when he seen it. He had drawn it three years after being in her home, but it was a memory of her from when she'd come to save him from St. Vincent's. That's what she'd done; she'd saved him from that place. Not that it was a bad place, but he would have still been there, rotting behind a locked door if she hadn't come and pulled him out of the protective wall he'd built around himself. Bobby let his hands fall from where they had been holding his face, and he slid his arms around him, pulling him close. "I know; she was good at that." He spoke quietly.

Craig realized that he had voiced his thoughts, and he hadn't even noticed his own words. He felt his body relaxing in Bobby's hold and he let his hand reach out and find the hem of his shirt, finding just the right spot. He slid it between his fingers and started rubbing, concentrating on the texture of the material, and the straight line of the thick thread holding it in place. He could feel his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest, and he felt exhausted. He had no idea how much time had passed, and he was at a loss for all that had come out. He wasn't sure of what he'd said to his brothers but he knew he'd said more than he ever thought he would.

"You calm down." Bobby leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head. "You want some water?" He asked.

Craig shook his head. He let his eyes slip close, and he drew in a very long breath. He felt as if he'd just run a mile at top speed. His muscles and his chest were aching, and the tears were still coming just as strong as before.

"You think he's had enough for now?" Jack asked, the words came soft, almost a whisper.

"Yeah, I think he needs some time to calm down." Bobby looked at Angel. "Can you call Jerry?" He asked.

Angel looked confused. "Sure, but…"

"He needs to know what the hell is going on here. We need to call Green too. I want some answers. I ain't waiting around anymore." Bobby sounded pissed. "I want to know one way or another." He didn't go into any further explanation, and though the words confused Craig, Angel seemed to know exactly what Bobby was talking about.

"You feel like taking a nap now?" Bobby leaned close to the boy. "You want to lay down here and try to sleep?"

Craig watched Angel stand and walk out of the room. He didn't respond to Bobby's question, he was considering his options. If he told Bobby that he didn't want to sleep he was certain he'd see another sketch pad come out of the box; he wasn't so sure he could handle having to face more of the nightmares that were hidden behind most of the pages. Some of the memories he'd put in those books weren't so bad, but others were more than he could take right then.

"Craig, do you want to try to sleep?" Bobby spoke a little louder, apparently thinking the boy didn't hear him.

Craig didn't look up at Bobby; he simply nodded his head slowly, hoping that would be enough.

"Use your voice." Bobby's voice held the tone that let the boy know the rules hadn't changed.

"Yeah," Craig barely managed to choke the small word out between the tears.

"Okay, you can curl up here."Bobby grabbed one of the throw pillows and put it in his lap. He maneuvered the boy around and laid him on his side, facing the couch, with his head on the pillow. The afghan was dropped over him, and Bobby rested his arm across him. "Close your eyes." He spoke when Craig looked up at him. "We ain't done here, so you need to get some rest. We still have a lot of these books of yours to go through, and we are going to keep going once you've had a chance to sleep a little. You have one hour, so you'd better get what sleep you can."

Craig wanted beg his brother not to make him look at any more of the pictures, but he knew deep down there would be no way to struggle free from the man's decided form of home therapy when the time came, so he didn't bother letting himself dwell on it at the moment, he felt completely spent, with little energy left inside.

He wanted to protest the fact that he was lying in Bobby's lap like a little kid, but he closed his eyes instead, and let the feel of his brother's arm across him soak in. It did make him feel safe, no matter how pissed he was with Bobby at that moment. He decided he could be pissed later, he was determined that he would be in fact. He wanted to hate Bobby for what he was doing to him. For now though, he preferred feeling his brother's presence, he felt safe, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime he felt some kind of peace moving about inside of him. It wasn't all of the pain, and anger, and fear, it seemed as if he'd let enough of those awful feelings out that there was room for calm and it felt good. There was more of the awful in there, he knew that, but enough had been released that he could actually feel something more, really feel, not just know what he was supposed to feel and wish for it or pretend it.

He felt as if a pressure had been lifted off of his chest and when he drew in a breath it seemed to pass into his lungs with less effort. He felt his body turn slightly towards Bobby, wanting to feel closer to him, at least for the moment. His mind started to drift, and he could hear Angel's faint voice speaking, but the words faded out completely as sleep moved in and wrapped around his consciousness. It was a true sleep, not one that was going to be filled with nightmare memories ripping as his brain. He could almost see the calm behind his closed eyes, he wanted to fall completely into it and let it fill him up.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for reading and thanks for your thoughts :) Let me know about this one!

Still don't own, still zero profit!

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**Chapter 12: A Break In The Storm**

Bobby listened to Angel talking to Jerry on the phone quietly from the kitchen while he watched Craig's eyes close. He kept his gaze on the boy. He had just watched the kid spill his guts about shit he had known nothing about. He wondered just how much of it his mother had known, and why she had never told any of them anything. Her rule had always been that none of them had to tell each other anything about their lives before they became her sons, if they didn't want to, but they had had all chosen to share their own pasts, especially when it became so apparent that Jack had been in the hands of a sick son of a bitch in his younger years. None of them had ever considered Craig had a past to share, or that could haunt him. Hell, he'd been seven years old when Evelyn brought him home. Seven fucking years old, how were any of them supposed to know he had that much shit inside? He'd been too young to have that much inside, and he wasn't through yet, he'd just gotten started. Bobby hadn' t wanted much to do with him when he was little, hell, he didn't want to rub off on him back then, he'd thought the kid had escaped the same kind of past the rest of them had endured in one form or another, and it turned out he'd seen just as much as any of them had, it had all been crammed into a shorter span of time, that was the only difference.

Craig looked as if he were exhausted enough to sleep the whole day. Part of that was due to the pills he'd forced down him, but he was sure that another aspect of it was the energy that had been spent for him to pour out the stories of his childhood suffering. The events he'd recorded on paper and been forced to look at and re-live had been more real to him than his brothers and his life here and now, or it seemed that way. It was if he'd been drawn back in time, and was re-living it. That had ripped at Bobby's chest, but he seemed to sense that it had to happen. Craig had been hiding from those memories, but they had been sitting there like a poison, festering under the front he'd learned to put up. He had remembered it all, and no matter what he'd said before, he had always remembered, he'd simply chosen to pretend he'd emptied it out of his head by drawing it all out on paper; by pretending he had avoided facing it the past seven years.

Bobby didn't understand why Evelyn had let him pretend like that. She had never been one for letting her sons hide from their pasts, she had always expected them to face it, and deal with it. Maybe she had felt Craig was too young to do that before. Maybe she had hoped that he was young enough when she got to him that he could get past it without having to relive it. Hell, it wasn't as if she expected him to ever be put through that hell again. She sure as hell wouldn't have thought it could happen twice, so close together, or that she wouldn't be there to help him if the need ever arose.

Bobby sensed the boy falling into a hard sleep almost immediately. He'd just spent the past hour crying and fighting against memories that he'd been forced to face, and every word that came out of his mouth had been wrapped around the pain he'd felt all those years ago. He had done good though, he really had, as hard as it was he hadn't fought against it as much as Bobby had expected him to. Once he'd started it had been almost as if he couldn't stop. It had built up inside of him for so long without being released in any other way . He'd been holding in a hell of a lot more than any of his brothers could have ever imagined. They had all known the basic facts. Hell, Jack knew more than any of them and he seemed just as shocked at some of the words that had wrenched out of the boy's chest from somewhere deep inside. Bobby knew that if it hadn't been for Jack's talk with the kid after Sweet had gotten his hands on him, Craig never would have come as far as he had that week before Macks had pulled off his plan to snatch him away. He might have been okay after that if it hadn't been for Macks showing up to keep their already screwed up lives turned upside down. Jack would have known what to say to him, and he would have made sure his other brothers knew what not to say to him.

Bobby turned his head and looked at Jack who was still sitting on the end of the couch, every muscle in his face pulled into a frown. His right thumb was held to his mouth, between his teeth, and Bobby could see he was chewing hard on the nail. He'd gnaw it down to the quick if he kept going, and then he'd keep pushing those teeth into the smarting gap that he'd manage to chew into it. That had been Jack's self destructive flaw, chewing his nails and the ends of his fingers until they bled, while Craig's outlet had been to scratch the never ending itch that would attack different parts of his body.

Jack had gotten past the nervous habit, mostly, when he started smoking. He'd picked up a few other habits that redirected that nervous energy that seemed to build up. He had told Bobby once that his hands were always the focus of punishments when he'd been that sick bastard that taken away his innocence. His fingers were broken, or he was forced to hold them out so that the son of a bitch could crack them with a stick or a ruler, anything that would hurt. He thought that was the reason he always focused on them when he was nervous or upset.

Now Bobby knew why Craig scratched. The bugs he could remember crawling on him as a small child; locked in a fucking closet, not able to get away from the feeling of tiny legs on his arms and legs. That made sense to him, he could understand that a hell of a lot more than the kid just scratching with nothing fueling the need.

Bobby lifted his hand and reached out to Jack, pulling his hand down from his mouth. "You okay Jackie?" He barely got the words out. He wanted to scream, and yell, and rip something apart. He wanted to hit someone, or something, and get rid of the fury that was working up inside of him, and the urge to do all of that forced his voice to choke off on him. He hadn't thought that there would be so much come out of the kid. He'd known there was going to be ugly things, but he couldn't imagine a father treating his own child the way that man had treated Craig. He had terrorized him his whole life. It was a miracle the kid had survived the six years he'd been in that man's hold.

Jack looked at Bobby, his eyes wide, as if he'd been dwelling on his own nightmarish past. "He ain't done." He pointed to Craig and his voice trembled. "Jesus Bobby, that man held him under water, nearly drowned him, and it had to be more than once. Did you see him? Did you hear him?" He reached up and wiped at the tears that were working their way out.

"Yeah Jackie, I did, I seen him, and I heard every word. Look, if this is too hard, then you don't have to…" Bobby started to tell his brother he didn't have to stick around for the rest of the talk that would be taking place once they all had a chance to calm down and compose themselves.

"No." Jack shook his head, not letting the older man finish his sentence. "Bobby, I know what the hell he's feeling. I do. I mean, I can only imagine what it would have been like to have it happen to me my whole fucking life. It would have gone on if they hadn't been killed, it would have, and I never would have had the nerve to tell anyone. He's talking, and that's a hell of a lot more than I ever could have done if our places had been switched." He drew in a deep breath. "He knows about me. He knows that I can understand, at least part of it. I gotta be here."

Bobby nodded his head. "Okay." He agreed, "But if it starts to get too hard, you need to leave the room Jack, even if it's just long enough to get your shit together. He can't have you lose it in middle of him losing it, he'll freeze up. He's able to talk because you told him you did, and if you can't deal with it, he won't be able to. You got that?"

Jack looked confused. "He's talking because of you Bobby." He countered. "He knows you'll take care of him, even if he forgot it for a while, he still knows it."

Bobby let a small smile slip past his own frown for a short moment. He still wanted to hit something. He wanted to hurt Macks more at that moment than ever before. He needed to get his own mind set right before Craig woke up. He couldn't let the kid see him losing it either, he had to stay calm; he had to listen to the words, and not react. The things that man had done to his little brother were nauseating, and he was sure if he let the kid see that he was so utterly disgusted by the man's deeds, he'd misunderstand and think he was the subject of the repulsion. Craig was more fragile than he had ever imagined. He was like one of his mother's broken ceramic figurines that had been glued back together with cheap glue, and the pieces were about to start falling away, one at a time.

"Do me a favor Jack, come down here and take my place for a few minutes?" He looked down at the boy in his lap. His cheeks were bright red, and sweat was beading on his forehead.

Jack looked at Bobby for a long moment, as if it took some effort for him to comprehend his words. He stood slowly, and stepped down to the other end of the couch. Bobby eased himself out from under the boy, holding the pillow with his hands while Jack slid under it. He straightened his back and watched Jack rested a hand on the boy's forehead before brushing some hair back away from the drops of sweat there. "You yell if he starts to wake up?" Bobby asked quietly.

Jack looked up at him, nodding his head in agreement. "You're grabbing another beer?" He asked.

"No, I'm getting something a little stronger. You need something?" Bobby asked.

Jack swallowed hard, "Hell yeah." There was a tremble in his voice, and Bobby wasn't so sure his little brother could truly handle the graphic details into the kid's past that the sketch pads were offering all of them. He didn't know if Jack was strong enough to go through it with Craig, though he knew how badly he wanted to be there for the kid.

Bobby turned and walked to the kitchen. Angel was still on the phone when he walked into the kitchen, but he had three shot glasses sitting on the counter, and the bottle of whiskey had been pulled out of the cupboard above the refrigerator. Hell, they were all thinking alike, just as usual.

"Damn it Jerry, you can call him again. I don't care if he said they hadn't done shit yet." Angel was holding the bottle of whiskey in his free hand, half tipped above one of the shot glasses, and Bobby was sure the glass he was about to pour into held drops of whiskey around the inside, indicating it had already been drained at least once. "You ain't here. You didn't see him. You didn't hear him. Hell, if that shit is still walking around we need to know, and we need to find his ass and finish the job we started." He looked up at Bobby when he noticed him.

Bobby pointed to the whiskey and reached for the phone. Angel gave up the device with no arguments and quickly poured out two shots. "Jack needs one too." Bobby spoke as he held the phone up to his ear to speak to Jerry.

"If he's out there, he's got some distance between us. We can't go runnin' off to Indiana to chase down his ass and kill him." Jeremiah was in the middle of speaking when Bobby took notice of his existence on the other end of the line.

"The hell we can't." Bobby nearly growled the words into the phone in response to his brother's statement, as he reached for his shot. He quickly downed it and grabbed the bottle from Angel as soon as the man had poured the shot for Jack. He filled his glass again and set the bottle down hard on the counter. "He tortured him Jerr'. He tortured him from the time he was fucking born, so don't tell me I can't go hunt his sick ass down." He felt the anger boiling up from inside. He watched Angel walk out of the kitchen with both shots, heading to the living room with them.

"Bobby?" Jerry cried out. "Listen, if he's out there, he will show back up in Detroit. I think his ass is frozen solid at the bottom of that fucking pond." He spoke quickly. "But if he's not, then we need to be right here in our own town, where we know the fucking streets, and have the contacts out there to feed us information. We just gotta wait for somethng from Green; don' t go off half assed after a ghost that might not even be there."

"Oh hell, he's there, and Green ain't found out shit for us Jerry. I don't care if I have to go back to that fucking pond and dive in myself to see if he's there, I need to know. Someone made that fucking phone call, and I don't think it was some stupid kid making a prank call. It's asinine to consider it was anyone else but Macks. I'm a lot of shit Jerr', but I ain't asinine; hell you ain't that stupid." Bobby couldn't keep his teeth from grinding as he spoke. He quickly downed his second shot, and let the burn of the whiskey sooth his nerves as it worked down his throat, warming his chest. "Are you coming over?" He asked quickly. He needed Jerry's common sense at that moment. He knew he did. He could feel his own control slipping away from him. The idea of Craig being in the hands of Macks even if for less than twenty four hours made his guts twist up on him, and he knew he was going to have to make the kid tell him about it, tell him with more detail than he'd let him spill out about the shit he'd gone through all those years ago. He would lose it if Jerry wasn't there, he knew he would.

As strange as it sounded, Jerry was Bobby's rock. Angel was his muscle, and Jack had been his compassion; well hell, Jack had been his reason to need Jerry's common sense and Angel's muscle. Now Craig was the reason, and he still needed all three of them with him. He needed all three of them so that he could keep himself straight. He needed them close. No one else in the world other than his brothers seemed to know how to talk to him when he was fighting down the type of anger that was stirring inside of him now.

He knew he could go into the back yard, behind the garage and start pounding on the siding of the building, denting the aluminum and bruising his hands in the process. It would release his anger, and he would feel better afterwards. He didn't want to do that. He wanted to save the real rage so that he could unleash it on the one person that deserved to feel it, Adam Macks.

Jerry was quiet on the other end of the line for a long moment. "Is it that bad?" He sounded surprised. "Be straight with me."

"He's a fucking mess Jerr'." Bobby kept his voice quiet. "He's a mess, and to be honest, I think he was holding a lot back. He let out shit that you could not imagine, but he was holding back. It was almost as if he shut down and let someone else talk for him. He felt it though. He cried, and he talked, but he seemed to do it from somewhere else, shit, it was like he was right there living through it again. Most of the time I'm not sure he even knew we were here, I mean we didn't have to ask him many questions, he just let it out, like he almost didn't know he was doing it. I can't explain it man, I just know how I feel. I need you here." He stared at the whiskey bottle for a long moment, remembering how Craig had talked about his father drinking whiskey. He had said the man drank, his mother did drugs. Somewhere in those words, it seemed as if the kid had said something about the smell of whiskey, and associating it with what that sack of shit did to him; his stomach turned on him at that thought.

"I'll come over, but it sounds like a good thing Bobby, he's gettin git out, right? Hell, you're doing the right thing. He's gonna be okay." Jerry spoke calmly. "It can't be that bad, can it? I mean really?"

Bobby looked down at the shot glass in his hand. "He's never gonna be okay again Jerry." He put the glass down on the counter and turned away from the temptation of another dose of the fire that would cool his frustration. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I'm not so sure. I was wingin' it, like I'm so good at, and I don't know if it was the right thing to do now. You always tell me it's a dumn ass move to 'wing it'." He admitted to his brother as he realized that was how he felt. "He needs his brothers, all of us, right here. He's gonna crack wide open. I don't think we've seen the worst of it, and I don't think I can do this without you." He heard the desperation in his own voice, something that he could normally control, and fight down. He was beginning to see just how much energy Craig had been putting into holding in all that he'd been harboring inside, it was taking all he had just to hold in what he was feeling.

"Alright, man, it's gonna be okay. I can be there in about thirty minutes, is that cool?" Jerry sounded just as calm as Bobby needed him to be.

"Yeah, that would be great, I want him to sleep a little bit; it was like he was drained completely. He got all fucking flushed and sweaty, and he was breathing hard. When I had him lay down he was out cold in seconds. Damn Jerr', I've seen a lot of shit in my time, but I wasn't ready to see what the hell he'd drawn in those fucking books. The pictures he drew were little kid pictures of shit no one should have to see. They weren't like what he draws now. He was that little, and he seen it, and he was six when it ended? Hell, how old is Daniela, five? By the time he was her age he'd seen shit I can't imagine? How wrong is that Jerr'?" Bobby wasn't sure why he was rambling on. He wanted Jerry to understand the impact that it had made on him maybe, or how fucking hard it had been for all of them to make it through the first round. How in the hell were they gonna make through any more of it? They had to keep their heads on straight if they were gonna get the kid to face it, and deal with it, and beat it.

"I get it Bobby, don't worry, it's gonna be okay. I'll be there soon, and I'll plan on stayin' for dinner. Y' all are gonna cook dinner, right?" The sound of his laugh seemed to help Bobby calm down a little.

"Yeah, we'll get Angel to cook up something real good." Bobby forced a grin.

"Alright then, I'll see you soon enough." Jerry hung up the phone without giving Bobby a chance to say anything else.

Bobby turned off the phone and stared at it for a long moment. The temptation to dial Green's number itched at his fingers, but he fought it off. He would deal with that once he'd gotten past the shit with Craig. He was gonna find out about Macks though, one way or another, even if he had to drive back to Ohio and check out that damn pond himself.

He stepped over to the table and dropped the phone down onto it. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, and he still felt the urge to hit something. He turned and looked towards the living room. Angel and Jack were with Craig and if he woke up they'd come for him. He needed time to get his shit together so that he could get through what he had deemed necessary for them. The whiskey had dulled part of the rage, but not enough of it. He was about to fucking lose all hold on his anger, and when that happened he'd tear shit up, if he was around anything. The back side of the garage was still lingering in his mind. The idea of beating the shit out of a large object was enticing to him at that moment.

He turned to walk out the back door, his fingers gripped hard on the knob, about to turn it hard and pull it open; but at that moment he heard a gut wrenching scream from the front of the house. It was like nothing he'd heard before, the pitch and the depth of it seemed to soak the walls around him. Shit, he knew what was coming.

"Bobby you'd better get your ass in here!" Angel yelled and the sound of his voice seemed to penetrate every nerve in Bobby's body, causing his arms to tingle and his chest to twist around in an effort to absorb the meaning of the sounds he was hearing. The kid was having a nightmare, or he'd had one and woke up hysterical, and Bobby wasn't in there to calm him down. He turned and pushed his legs hard to make to the living room as quickly as possible.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think :)

Legal stuff still counts...

* * *

**Chapter 13: Monsters and Fathers**

Craig felt the pressure on his arms, the knees digging in, holding him down. He tried to twist his head to one side, to pull away from what was coming at him. The hand swung down hard, striking him, causing the entire left side of his face to sting and throb. The force sent stars dancing in sparkles around him, and he could feel it going in, pushing, and gagging him as it was forced deep. Tears sprung to life and he bit down, not meaning to, not wanting the punishment that action would incur. He could hear the screaming above him and could see the look in his eyes, the mixture of rage and shear agony melding together in the bloodshot slits that were boring down on him. He felt the intrusive part pulling from his throat, from his mouth, only to have the large hands clamp down around his throat, squeezing hard, cutting off the blood and air, and making his head feel as if were about to explode. He was pulled up by that grip, his own hands clasping around the larger set choking the life right out of him. He kicked his feet, and if he'd been able to he would have screamed for all he was worth. He felt his lungs convulsing with the effort to pull in air, and his brain started to tingle from the lack of blood and oxygen.

The very moment he thought he was going to die he was given a reprieve. The hands released him, and he felt his body falling. It seemed he floated in the air for a long moment before he hit the hard, cold dirt floor, and everything around him went completely black. He laid on his side, gasping for the precious air, though it held an awful odor to it, a stench so strong that it caused his eyes to sting and water.

He managed to pull himself up onto his knees and looked around him at the dark shadows. He could make out something on the floor close to him, and the dark, damp cellar he'd been dropped into seemed to close in around him. Suddenly the light slowly brightened down around the floor, illuminating the objects that were surrounding him. They were body parts, arms, legs, fingers, toes, and other parts, bleeding, and rotting, but thrashing around in agony none the less. He could see his own face in the mangled mess of body parts, and it was screaming with no sound behind it. There was no sound because there was no body attached to that face, no lungs to push the scream free.

He felt his own scream breaking free; the terror of what he was seeing overwhelming every nerve in his body. He felt a sharp pain stab at his bottom lip, as if he'd been struck hard, and when he looked up the monster that had made his life a living hell was standing over him. He felt his arm being grabbed and he realized his torturer was holding a knife in one hand. The blade came down in a chopping motion, over and over again, cutting him into small pieces, and his screaming increased with each blow from the razor sharp blade. He watched as the monster tossed his hands and arms in separate directions. They flopped around on the floor like a fish tossed out of the water and onto dry land, suffocating in the open air. Next it was his feet, and his legs. He begged him to stop, he cried and screamed and not once did it occur to him to fight back. He couldn't fight back, he was at his mercy; not that he ever received any from him. Piece by piece that monster was tearing him apart and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Craig!" The voice seemed to come from far away, a distant call that he could barely hear over his own horrifying ear-piercing screams. "Bobby you'd better get your ass in here!"

Bobby. He needed Bobby; he would kill the monster and put him back together. He would get rid of the bloody mess around him, the mess that seemed to be his own soul broken and cut up into pieces around him, rotting away and turning to jellied remains of flesh and blood. "Bobby!" He tried for the first time to pull away from the monster looming above him, to dodge the blade that was swinging down towards him. He couldn't move though, he felt the cold dirt beneath him liquefy and suck him down he couldn't reach out for anything to grab hold of; his arms had already been hacked away. He screamed even louder than before just as his face was pulled under, his mouth filled with the thick liquid that surrounded him and his lungs struggled to breathe in something, anything besides the foul substance that he could feel himself drowning in.

"Craig! Hold onto me, hold on!" Bobby's voice sounded close to him. He could feel his body starting to shiver and he felt arms wrapping around him from somewhere in the black nothingness that had swallowed him up.

"Bobby!" Craig cried out with as much strength as he could put behind it. "Make him stop!" He screamed. "Make him go away!"

"I'm trying to, just hold onto me." Bobby's answer made no sense to him, but his mind was pulling the words through the endless blackness in front of him, turning them into pictures of Bobby aiming a gun at the monster with Adam Mack's face, and pulling the trigger.

His brain seemed to snap open the moment the gun blast should have sounded, and he found himself on the floor of the living room. The Christmas tree had been toppled, the coffee table was pushed at an odd angle, and Jack was on his knees between the couch and the table, holding onto his side. Angel was helping Jack up from the floor.

Craig was dazed, his vision obstructed by sparkles and brief flashes of color, and he was sure that he should have been bawling, but he wasn't. He felt pinned in, his arms trapped, and there seemed to be a wall blocking him from behind. He realized he was being held back against that wall by arms. One hand was holding what seemed to be a white shirt over his smarting mouth, pressing on it hard.

"Jackie, you okay?" Bobby's voice rose from behind him filled with worry, and he knew that it was his oldest brother holding him.

"I'm fine, he just, knocked the wind out of me." Jack spoke with a gasp. "Shit, that came with no warning." He let Angel help him onto the couch.

The hand holding the shirt lifted slightly, and Craig could see blood soaked into the white material. Bobby's body leaned forward and after a moment Craig could see his face coming into view from behind him. Bobby seemed to be studying something hard. "It's not too bad." He looked Craig in the eye. "Just a little cut, but it's bleeding like hell." He looked worried despite his words. "Did you hit your tooth?" He asked.

Craig couldn't answer. He didn't know the answer; in fact he was confused by the question. The nightmare that had been so vivid just seconds before seemed to be fading, but he felt as if Bobby had reached in and pulled him out of some dark pit. A shiver over took him and Bobby seemed to feel it. The man sighed and closed his eyes for a short moment. Craig realized his brother looked tired, as if he'd used all of the energy he had and was running on fumes.

"I'm sorry." Craig muttered, and his bottom lip felt fat when he spoke.

Bobby's eyes shot open and looked at him. "It's okay. It's not like you hurt the table." He spoke quietly. "Can you sit up?" He let his arms loosen around the boy.

Craig pulled himself forward, sitting up on his own accord. He squeezed his eyes closed and swallowed at the soreness in his throat. He could remember screaming hard and loud, but the reason for it was becoming vague and distant. "Did you get him?" He asked quietly, being sure of only one thing, he'd been counting on Bobby to kill the monster.

"I don't know, did I?" Bobby was moving towards the tree, pulling himself to his feet as he did. He dropped the bloody shirt on the coffee table and then motioned at Angel to help him, and between the two of them they managed to stand the tree upright.

Craig watched his brothers adjust the tree, and the left over boxes underneath it that had yet to be put away. Angel reached down to pick up a wire snowflake ornament that had fallen off of the tree, it looked as if it had been broken, and Angel studied it for a moment before pushing it around in his fingers. He put it back on the tree, slightly bent out of shape and let out a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry." Craig spoke again, his voice coming out weak.

Bobby studied the tree for a long moment and then turned to him. "You ain't gonna have no more fucking dreams Craig. We're gonna get rid of them." He stepped back over and reached his hand down toward the boy for him to grasp hold of.

Craig looked at the hand. He'd become used to his brother grabbing him and standing him up, not offering a hand. He reached out took hold, allowing Bobby pull him carefully to his feet. Bobby let an arm drop around his shoulder, and he moved him over to the chair in front of the fireplace. "You stay here; I'm gonna go get a wash rag for that lip." He sat the boy down carefully.

Craig was aching for his brother to hold onto him, and he didn't want to be left in the chair, alone. He grabbed for Bobby's arm before the man had a chance to move away. "Don't go, please?" He begged him, the tears now starting to surface as the fear of the dream seemed to surround him, coming back to him in flashes.

Bobby grabbed his hands and pried them away from his arm. "I'm gonna be right back. I need to clean the blood off your face and I need a wet rag for that." He sounded calm, but Craig felt the panic building up inside of him.

"He'll come back." He cried out. "He always comes back." He reached for Bobby again, not sure where the panic was coming from, or why he'd cried out the words. "Please don't go!" He sounded desperate, he knew that, but he didn't care. He needed Bobby to stay there and keep him safe. He reached for Bobby again, frantic to keep him close. He didn't understand why his brother wasn't holding onto him, like he'd done before, making him feel safe and protected.

"Craig, stop it." Bobby smacked his hands away, but he leaned over and pressed his hands down on the chair arms, his face directly in front of his. "I'm only going to the laundry room, and I'll be right back. Angel and Jack are both right here." He turned his head slightly and gave it a slight nod in the direction of the couch where Jack was still holding his side and Angel was moving the coffee table back into its normal position. "You are awake, and you are fine. It was a fucking nightmare, but it's over. It's gone, and it wasn't real. He's not here, and he's not coming here. You're awake enough to know that. No one is going to hurt you. You need to calm yourself down and get your shit together." Bobby stood back from him quickly and walked out of the room as if he needed to put space between himself the boy in the chair. Craig felt as if Bobby had abandoned him, but he wasn't sure why.

Craig let his arms wrap around his stomach hard and squeezed his eyes closed. "He always comes back." He muttered more to himself than anyone else.

"Did you not hear your brother?" Angel stepped over from the coffee table. "He ain't coming back here." He shook his head. "We don't know that he's not dead, do you got that?" He didn't sound as calm as Bobby had sounded. "If he's not dead now, he will be soon, because we will fucking kill him for what he's done to you." He stood in front of the chair. "Don't you think we know just how screwed up he has you right now? We know. We ain't gonna let it happen anymore. We fucked up once, but you gotta give us a break here kid. We'll do whatever we need to, but we are gonna keep you safe. You gotta trust us to do that."

Jack cleared his throat loudly from the couch. "Craig, look at me." He spoke a little louder than he needed to.

Craig turned his head just enough to look at Jack. The man pulled his arm away from his side and let his stare fix on Craig for along moment. It gave Craig an uneasy feeling inside. He was calming down from the nightmare, but not much. His mind was racing back to before the nightmare, before he'd fallen asleep with his head in Bobby's lap. The talk and the memories that had swelled up inside of him all seemed to rush back into his brain.

"You want to stop having the nightmares?" Jack's eyes narrowed and he seemed to be thinking hard. "You gotta let it loose. You gotta start talking, really talking; not just telling us about the pictures. You gotta tell us all of it." He spoke slowly, and carefully. "You did good before, you really did, but now, you gotta let the feelings out. It's like you have them separated inside. You got the memories stored on one side of your head, and the feelings that go with them are stored on the other side. You told us about some bad memories, but you didn't really let the feelings go, now did you?" He nodded his head slowly. "That's why you had a shitty ass nightmare. You're keeping most of it bottled up inside of you."

There was no way that Craig could respond to the words. He listened to them, and he considered them, but he couldn't respond to them.

"I'm going to go find out what is taking Bobby so long." Angel looked at Jack. "You gonna be okay?" He asked quietly.

"I'm fine." Jack nodded his head. "He's not moving either, are you Craig?" He kept his gaze on the boy.

Craig shook his head slowly looking down at his knees, not wanting to look at anyone else at that moment. No he wasn't about to get out of the chair. He felt shaky, and he felt confused. He wanted Bobby, and he wanted to forget about everything that had happened with Adam Macks, and Victor Sweet, and his mother's death. He wanted to pretend none of it had happened; it was much easier that way. His brothers weren't going to let it go though. They were going to pry it out of him, little by little, no matter how hard he resisted, it wouldn't do any good. Jack was right, he'd let out the memories, and yeah, they'd wracked at his gut, and he'd cried and felt the emotions that went along with them, but the emotions had stayed inside, just like Jack said. He wondered how Jack could know that. He could see Angel moving away, and he could feel Jack's stare on him.

"Craig, look at me." Jack spoke quietly.

Craig squeezed his eyes closed tight for a moment, trying to prepare himself for facing Jack. He finally opened them and turned his head back to focus on the young man on the couch.

"I know why Bobby didn't pull you into a tight hug and hold onto you." Jack kept his voice quiet, he seemed to be reading the boy's mind. "And I can tell you right now that it was the hardest thing for him to do. He wants to hold onto you and not let go, he wants that more than anything." His eyes seemed to glisten, and Craig was sure he was struggling to hold in tears.

The boy wished he had the control that Jack had, because he couldn't keep the tears from falling. He heard the words, and was waiting for Jack to continue. He was waiting to hear how Bobby was sick and tired of going through the same shit with his youngest brother, over and over again. The same kind of trouble, the same nightmares, the same whining and crying and complaining, it was all wearing on the man and he didn't want to have to put up with it anymore. He was waiting for Jack to validate his fears of Bobby getting rid of him, calling the state and letting them come for him and drag him off so that the Mercers didn't have to put up with him and his problems any more.

Jack drew in a deep breath. "He loves you enough to try to teach you how to deal with it. He isn't always going to be able to deal with it for you, and protect you from the world, and that includes Macks, but it's not just about him. You are going to have to learn to cope with shit on your own, and there's only so much he can do about the things that have already happened. The rest is up to you." Jack reached up and scratched at his chin for a moment. He drew in a deep breath. "Bobby can't keep you locked up in this house forever. At some point you'll have to go back to school, and you'll want to go out and do shit with your friends. He can't keep you safe from everything out there. He'll try, and he'll lay his life on the line if it means protecting you, but he knows there could come a day when he's not around and you're gonna have to be able to deal with whatever you're faced with. He sure can't change the past or make it go away, but he's trying, in his own way. You are the only one who can decide if what Macks has done to you is gonna be in control of everything you do. It doesn't have to be." Jack sat back on the couch, apparently done with his little speech. "That's what real fathers do Craig; they take care of you and teach you to take care of yourself."

Craig reached up and wiped at the tears on his face. Jack's words were rolling around in his head his brain trying to process them, to make sense of them. What was Jack trying to tell him? What was the point in his words? There had to be meaning, and though he could feel an inkling of what it was, he wasn't so sure he wanted to face it.

* * *

Angel walked into the laundry room, looking uncertain that he was actually going to find Bobby there, with the heavy silence that seemed to be weighing down the air behind the door. As he peered in though, the sight before him revealed Bobby bent over the top of the dryer, his face in his hands, with his body shaking ever so slightly. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Angel sounded calm.

Bobby startled slightly at the sound of Angel's voice, though he didn't turn to face him. He was grateful Angel couldn't see the tears streaked down his face. He wiped at the wet tracks quickly, bent over to grab the door handle, and managed a quiet sniff before pulling open the dryer door to find a wash rag in the load that had been left there from the most recent attempt to get some laundry caught up. He cleared his throat while he dug for a rag. "Nothing," He managed to choke the word out.

"You been cryin' in here." Angel looked bewildered. "What the fuck, he's the one having the nightmares, what are you crying for?" He stepped into the small room and pushed the door closed hard. "Get your shit together, man. What's wrong with you?" There seemed to be a mixture of confusion and irritation weaved through his words.

Bobby found a blue wash rag and pulled back from the dryer, standing up, still keeping his back to his Angel. "I don't know." He swallowed back at the last of the tears. "What I really want to do is hit something, hard, but when I got in here, it just, I don't know, it was like it all twisted up in my gut. I walked away from him Angel. I just left him sitting there, crying, and he needed me to...." He was unable to finish his sentence, but he turned to face his brother, finally.

Angel crossed his arms at his chest. The look on his face changed, and he seemed to understand Bobby's words. "He needed you to do just what you did do." He shook his head. "You ain't no fucking superman Bobby. You can't keep swooping in and picking him up when it's getting tough for him, you know that or you wouldn't have walked away." His voice quieted. "Mom would have been proud." He let a small smile slide into place. "Hell, you did just what she would have. You made him put some effort into getting himself off the floor, and then you made it clear he needed to calm himself down. What you did was hard, man, but I think it was right. He's got to learn to deal with shit. You can't keep telling him how he has to face what happened if you are gonna grab hold of him and let him hide behind you. He's not dealing with anything that way, now is he?"

Bobby put his back to the dryer and leaned back against it, the rag still in his hands. "That's not why I did it through Angel." He confessed, his voice sounded as he was pissed. "I wanted to turn and punch the fucking wall. You seen him, you seen the look on his face, and you heard that screaming coming out of him. What the hell was he seeing? What the hell did that son of bitch do to him to give him a nightmare so fucking back that he was fighting us like that? He was hysterical. He took out the tree and he busted his lip on the table, and he didn't wake up until I had him pinned on the floor." Bobby drew in a deep breath, his fingers playing with the rag between them. "I want to bust shit up right now, I'm that pissed. If I'd tried to hold onto him, it would have just built up and I couldn't risk that."

Angel nodded his head. "You know, this ain't gonna get any easier, for any of us, not at first anyway. But if it works, then, hell, it's worth it, ain't it?" He asked the question quietly.

"I hope so Angel." Bobby drew in a deep breath and took that first step towards the door. "I sure as hell hope so." It was time to get back to the living room, and to the task at hand, which was getting through to that kid, somehow.

Bobby stopped in the kitchen and ran water across the rag while Angel returned to the living room. He filled a glass with water and carried it with him when he returned to wash the blood away from Craig's lip. He was surprised when he walked into the room. Craig was no longer crying, and though he'd expected to find him holding his arms tight around his stomach, he actually had both hands resting on the arms of the chair. He drew in a deep breath. "You calmed down any?" He asked, trying to keep his voice sounding normal. He held the glass of water out to the boy. "You take that, and you can drink that after I get your mouth cleaned up."

Craig nodded his head slowly and took the glass from Bobby. He let Bobby lift his chin up and wipe at the blood smeared on his face from the split lip. Bobby glanced at the boy's eyes to find them fixed on him. The eyes staring up at him were red and seemed swollen, but the kid had stopped crying. "You remember the dream?" Bobby asked quietly while he returned his attention to the split in the lip.

Craig shivered under Bobby's hands, and he knew the answer before the boy spoke, "Yeah." He was surprised to hear the confirmation rather than a denial. He was sure the boy would insist he couldn't remember the dream.

Bobby nodded his head. "You want to tell us about it?" He asked.

"No." Craig muttered.

"Will you tell us anyway?" Bobby managed to keep his voice quiet and calm as he finished removing the blood. He shifted his point of concentration to the boy's eyes.

Craig still had his gaze fixed on his brother. "Do I have to?" He asked with a shaky voice; the tears close to building around the rims again.

Bobby nodded his head. "Do you want to get that son of a bitch out of your head or not?" He asked.

"Can I draw it?" Craig sounded small and terrified.

"Yeah, you can draw it, but you gotta tell it too." Bobby agreed.

"I can't." Craig whimpered.

"Bull shit. You did a lot of talking before, you can do it again." Bobby pushed. "It's pretty simple kid, you are gonna talk either way. If you think it will be easier with the pad, then I'm willing to let you have it. But you ain't getting it at all if you ain't gonna try to talk. There ain't gonna be no more drawing shit down and pretending it's gone after that. It's not gone when you draw it, it's still there, eating you up, and I ain't gonna let it happen anymore."

"Mom always…" Craig started to argue.

"Ma ain't here." Bobby spoke quickly. "Ma wouldn't have let you hide from it, and you know it. Maybe all those years ago, it worked out okay. Ma knew what it was that happened to you, and she understood it, and you knew that she understood it. That's why it worked." Bobby forced himself to keep his voice calm. "I don't understand it Craig, none of us do. You gotta make us understand. You gotta let us know what the hell is going on inside of you so we can understand it. Does that make any sense to you at all?"

Craig looked over at Jack. He stared at him for a long moment, and an expression crossed over his face, as if something had clicked in his brain, though Bobby had no clue what that was about. Bobby was about to say something when Craig turned back to him. "Are you gonna be my father?" He asked the question quietly, looking almost embarrassed that he'd said the words.

Bobby's mouth opened slightly, he was at a loss for how to answer the questions. He heard Angel snickering quietly from behind him. "Hell, Craig, I thought I already was." He managed to say the words normally, without letting his voice quiver. "You're my kid and don't you ever forget that."

Before anything else could be said the front door opened, and then closed with a loud bang. All eyes turned to Jeremiah as he walked into the room. Jerry had a grin on his face, and he looked at Bobby and Craig, and then shifted his gaze to Angel and then Jack. He did a double take on both Angel and Jack, and a look of horror slowly replaced the grin that he'd been sporting. "What the hell happened to you two?" He cried out when he got a better look at the various colors of paint that still covered both men.


	14. Chapter 14

As always thanks for reading, and please review! I love knowing what you think.

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 14: Interesting**

Jeff Jones walked up the icy streets. The afternoon sun had given way to dark clouds dumping first sleet and then snow. He hadn't been thrilled when his motel phone split the air with a shrill whistling sound that was supposed to be a ring. What fucking phone is supposed to whistle? They are supposed to ring. Carl had been on the other end of the line, telling him he had a job for him.

Jones hadn't been in the best of moods, he had mostly recovered from his hangover, but there was still a dull thud behind his eyes, and he couldn't seem to get that woman out of his head, no matter what Adam Macks said to him. He had managed to hold in the agitation and take down the information Carl rattled off to him, he had no choice really; he needed the money. He just hoped the money was gonna be good for this job. Carl told him he wanted a later model Ford Mustang, yellow, preferably. He even knew where one could be found; he just needed someone who could get it to him without being spotted, or caught. Carl had made the remark that if he was spotted, or followed, he'd bust him up good, and he wouldn't object to killing his sorry ass, if he screwed up the job.

Macks hadn't had to answer to no one for a long time, and hearing someone threaten him that way burned right through him. Jeff Jones on the other hand, now that sorry shit had a reputation to build, so he didn't seem to take the threat too personally, he was willing to prove himself before letting some stupid shit like that piss him off. He'd show him he was reliable, and then if that ass hole threatened him, he'd but a bullet in his head. He didn't need the money so badly that he had to be talked down to by some small town hood. He had most of Detroit in his back pocket; the problem was Adam Macks was dead, so he had no way to get to the resources he'd built up.

Jones stood at the corner of the brick office building positioned across the street from the car dealership. He didn't like taking a fucking car off the lot of a dealership, but according to Carl that was the only car in town that fit his needs. He sighed and reached into his pocket and fingered the tennis ball he'd gone out and purchased at the sporting goods store. He let a small chuckle escape his throat at the memory of the clerk he'd dealt with.

Hell they didn't sell many tennis balls in the dead of winter, and they sure as hell didn't sell by the individual ball. He only needed one but he wasn't so stupid to think that he could break open that cardboard tube and buy only one. Still the clerk was a stupid shit, and he had to argue with him about something, just for the fun of it. So he'd played with him for a few minutes, telling him he only needed one, and that he didn't think it made sense to have to buy the whole pack when he wouldn't use the others, why didn't they sell them single?

He'd taken the ball back to the motel room to put the hole in the side of it. He hadn't used a tennis ball for years, didn't know if any safety features had been incorporated into the new models now, to prevent such an easy break in, but he'd find out. He'd been watching the lot for nearly thirty minutes now, and they hadn't had any customers. Small town, not too much business he imagined, so it wasn't too surprising that the salesmen were all sitting just inside the building, visible through the huge plate glass windows, playing cards and drinking coffee. They had been there since he'd started watching, and they only got up to get more coffee or take piss.

Macks pulled his hooded sweatshirt up over his head, and kept his head hung low as he walked across the street, and headed to the far end of the car lot where his target was located. He wasn't all that worried about the men spotting him, they hadn't looked out the window for the past half an hour, but there were cameras placed strategically around the building. He needed to be sure his face wasn't captured on any fucking video. He'd been sure to wear the crappy used clothes he'd acquired from the thrift store, glad that he hadn't gotten rid of them yet. He walked on past the Mustang, as if he were just walking by, and the cut in between a couple of cars a few yards down. He moved through the lot in a hunkered down pose, quick, and quiet, staying between the cars. He moved three isles across, to the row the Mustang was sitting in before stopping to glance towards the front of the building. The men inside were well into their game, not paying any attention to what was going on outside.

He laughed to himself. Hell, the small town life was good; these idiots weren't used to this kind of shit happening in their town, at their dealership. They didn't even have alarms on the fucking cars to alert them to any thieving occurring under their noses. None of them were brand new, but they were newer model used cars that could hold some value. He made his way to the Mustang and crouched down next to the passenger's door. He checked the area once more before moving to the driver's side, still keeping low so that he couldn't be seen above the car hoods. He pulled out his tennis ball and pressed it against the lock on the door, making sure the hole he'd drilled into it was positioned just right over the keyhole. He gave it a hard push, sending the air out of the ball and into the keyhole. The electric lock popped up, and he heard the click that he'd wanted to hear. He dropped the ball back into his pocket and eased the door open. He slid his hands up under the dash, found the wires he needed and set to work quickly. He had the engine running and was climbing into the driver's seat in a matter of seconds. He looked out the window, to see if any of the stupid sons of bitches inside had spotted him yet. Nope, they were still playing their card game, oblivious to their car easing out of its spot, across the lot, and onto the street. He knew he shouldn't do it, but he couldn't resist driving by the front of the business slowly, waving and honking the horn. He laughed when the men's heads bobbed up long enough to stare out the window and waved back at him with big, stupid smiles plastered on their faces, before returning to their game, all looking so fucking dorky in their suits and ties, and no customers on their lot. They didn't even realize they were waving at one of their own cars.

He drove the back streets, making his way out of town to the spot Carl had set up for them to meet. He hoped it wasn't too far out of town, since he had to fucking walk back and the temperature outside seemed to be dropping quick. Of course, maybe Carl would be a fucking ass hole with a heart and give him a ride back, but that was doubtful. If their roles were reversed, and they had been at one time, he wouldn't give a rat's ass about whether or not he froze to death trying to walk back into town. You had to be careful, not let anyone see you with the person who had stolen the car for you. That was just good business.

Carl was there, waiting, in the parking behind the gas station that was close to the interstate. The station was small, and didn't do much business. There was no one around; even the attendant wasn't in view behind the glass. He pulled the Mustang around to the back side of the building and got out, anxious to get his money and get the hell out of there. Carl was anxious to get the deal over with as well and quickly handed an envelope to him. "You take that and get the hell out of here." He pointed to a pickup truck sitting next to the building. "You drive that back to my garage; leave the key under the seat. You can walk it from there." He sounded hard, and cold, but Jones didn't care. He was surprised to have a ride back into town. He shoved the envelope into his pocket without looking at it, and then walked the ten feet to the truck without saying a word. He didn't look back as he took off out of the lot. He didn't need to know where Carl was taking the car, or who else might show up to take the car. He'd done his part, and he had a ride back, that was all he needed to know.

He parked the truck at the garage and set off on foot, back to his motel at as quick a pace as he could manage on the slippery walkways. He was thankful to walk into the warmth of his room, and it was then that he pulled out the envelope and looked at what was inside. Five hundred dollars, well that wasn't so bad. A couple of hours of his time, and he'd made a decent amount. It had been simple enough. He wasn't too fucking disappointed, though he thought he deserved more than what the envelope held, he was sure that since he'd proved himself on this run, the next time he'd be paid more. That was Jones' opinion anyway.

Macks on the other hand wasn't so pleased. He needed the fucking money, he needed a damn sight more than five hundred a pop to get enough together for what he had to do. His kid was sitting fucking pretty back in Detroit, and he needed to get back there and get back to his own fucking business. If Carl thought five hundred was fair, he had another thing coming to him. The next run had better pay off much better, or he'd make up the difference with a little blood. Macks laughed at that thought, it would definately make his life a little more interesting.

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Bobby looked down at Craig, the boy's question had been answered, but now Jerry was standing in between Jack who was sitting back on the couch, and Angel, who was sitting in the chair in front of the record player, listening to how the two of them had ended up covered in paint residue from their mission to get Sofi off of the school.

Craig was looking at the three men, listening to Angel explaining to Jerry how the image on the school had been Sofi, and he made damn sure that it was removed, so that no one else could look at his woman's naked body again. Jerry was laughing from time to time as Jack and Angel took turns explaining how their night had progressed from the time Angel snuck in to get Jack out of bed, right up the point where the bucket fell off of the ledge.

Bobby stood himself upright. "That's right, and the two idiots went out in the middle of the night to do it too." He announced. He looked at Jerry, "Why don't you explain to them why that was such a stupid idea?" He looked back down at Craig. "You drink that water." He pointed to the glass the boy still held in his hand.

Craig looked back to him, and quietly complied. He took a good long drink, apparently nightmares and crying brought about a good thirst. Bobby kept his gaze fixed on the kid for a long moment.

Craig hadn't reacted to his answer yet. He hadn't really had the chance since Jerry had walked in, but he looked as if he were thinking hard about something, and considering the last thing Bobby had said to him, it was pretty obvious what he was concentrating so hard on. Hell, he was starting to feel as if maybe he'd said the wrong thing to him. Maybe he shouldn't have told him what he'd been thinking since before Macks ever got his hands on him. Maybe it was the wrong time, or it hadn't been what he'd wanted to hear. He didn't know. He only hoped that the kid understood it, and knew what it meant. He was his brother, he always would be, but he was his, he was his responsibility, and he took his responsibilities quiet seriously. He didn't expect Craig to think of him as his father, that would be a little awkward, but he had hoped he would understand what he meant when he said it. He did feel as if he were more of a father to him than a brother.

He'd been hard on the kid, and he'd been pretty damn unfair with him the through the years, he knew that. He did love him though; he had cared about him from the day his mother brought him home.

They were family. That had been decided long ago, by Evelyn Mercer. Bobby could hear Angel and Jack going back and forth, telling Jerry every detail behind their misery, but he was staring at the kid in the chair, and remembering the day their mother had shared her plans for bringing home another foster kid.

Evelyn had walked into the house carrying a grocery bag. She had called to say that she was going to be late, so Angel had started supper for her. When she came in Jerry had helped her carry the few groceries she'd stopped to pick up on the way home. When he asked her how her day had been her answer had that been one word that Bobby had come to recognize as a warning, "Interesting."

Bobby had only heard her use that word on three other occasions when she was asked to describe her day at work, and each one had a name to it, Jeremiah, Angel, and Jack. So he'd known, as had Jerry, just what that word meant that night. Angel and Jack didn't catch on so quickly to the fact they were getting another brother.

Bobby had expected a teenager, or some kid with a hard-ass attitude, ten or eleven years old maybe, angry at the world, like he had been, someone more like him and his brothers. Instead this small thing had come home with her the next day, looking as if he would start bawling at any moment, clinging to her as if she were his lifeline. He had kept his distance from the kid. Hell, Jack had been messed up when she'd brought him home, but he'd been older, old enough to at least put up some kind of pissed off front, at least he had in the beginning. Pissed off was Bobby's specialty, not small and innocent.

It hadn't been what Bobby was expecting, and instead of stepping up and doing what he'd always done best, he'd stepped back because he didn't know what the fuck to do. He told himself he needed to help his mother support the kid, not actually have anything to do with him, but the truth was he'd been terrified of him. Not that he could ever admit to anyone that he'd been terrified of a seven year old kid. He didn't know how to deal with such a small person. He didn't know what to say to him, or how to talk to him. He didn't want to scare him and he looked as if he scared too fucking easy.

He hadn't understood why his mother had brought home such a young one. Hell, she'd always been more comfortable with the older kids herself. She'd always made it a point to get their files, so that she could work her magic and make sure they were placed in good homes. Seven year old kids weren't that hard to place, and for her to bring one home, hell, it had pissed him off a little. He had cared about the kid despite all of that, though no one would have ever guessed it. A person couldn't help but care about him, and besides, when Evelyn Mercer brought a kid home, it sealed the deal, they were a Mercer for life.

Now he understood his mother's reasons, and now he wished he'd spent the past seven years finding out more about her reasons for bringing home a real child for a change, and not some street punk that her boys could help brother into reforming. He understood now, that she had needed them to brother him to keep him from getting to the same point they had all be at when she found them. She'd wanted to save him before he needed saved.

Craig finished off the water, and sat in the chair, staring at the empty glass in his hands, and maybe half listening to Jerry giving Angel and Jack hell for their night time stunt.

Bobby pulled his gaze over to his other three brothers in time to see Jeremiah smack both of them across the back of the head. He snorted out a laugh and looked down at Craig, "You alright?" He finally asked, reaching down to grab the glass from the boy's hand.

Craig looked up at him. "Yeah, I'm okay." He spoke quietly, but there seemed to be something behind his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" Bobby kept his voice quiet.

Craig shrugged his shoulders. "If you're gonna be my father, what does that make, 'him'?" He swallowed hard, and Bobby knew exactly who he was referring to.

"That makes 'him', nothing. He's nothing, you got that?" Bobby kept his voice calm.

Craig drew in a shaky breath. "He scares me." His voice came out small, reminding Bobby once more of that little thing Evelyn had brought home seven years ago.

Bobby nodded his head. "Yeah, I know he does. But he pisses me off, so you don't gotta be scared." He thought it made perfect sense, it did to him anyway. "He ain't here, I am."

Craig nodded his head slowly, as if he were starting to understand something on a new level, and Bobby wished to God the kid would say what it was that he was thinking right then.

"He always comes back. What happens when he comes back?" Craig asked.

"Then we'll shoot the fucker." Jerry's voice rang out before Bobby had a chance to speak. "And then he can't come back."

Bobby turned to see his brothers looking in their direction. He smiled and looked back down at Craig. "You see? You got us. We ain't gonna let that son of a bitch touch you." He spoke quietly.

"He already did." Craig's voice choked up on him. "He touched me, he cut on me, and he made me do things." He looked away from Bobby, down to his hands and the tears started again. He wiped at them, but didn't look back up.

"You think anything that happened was your fault?" Bobby set the glass on the mantel directly above the chair Craig was seated in.

Craig didn't answer; he didn't shake his head, or try to speak at all. His body shuddered and more tears seemed to come. He looked over at the coffee table, his gaze fixed on the box that held his past. "He said it's my fault." He finally managed to get the words out. "It was my fault that he had to shoot my mom. It was my fault that he had to teach me how to make him happy. I wasn't supposed to ever be born, he didn't want me, but she did, and he had to make me worth something to him…" His voice hitched as a sob overtook the words.

Bobby let his knees bend, crouching in front of the boy. He didn't say a word. This was it. He was talking to them on his own, and he wasn't hysterical, and he wasn't just answering their questions. There were no pictures in front of him to hide behind. He was really talking this time. It felt different, and it was what they had been waiting for him to do, really let it out.

Bobby didn't know for certain what had changed, but he could see the tension that had been ripping the kid apart from the inside seemed to have lessened. It was still there, just not so intense, at least not at that moment. Maybe for once Bobby Mercer had managed to say the right thing at the right time, because when Craig looked up at him, he could see it on his face, he was about to unload it all.


	15. Chapter 15

Let me know what you think, and thanks to all for reading! I need reviews people :)

Legal stuff still counts...

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**Chapter 15: The Dam Breaks Open**

Craig looked into Bobby's eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything. He thought he understood what Jack was saying to him just a short time before. Adam Macks couldn't be his father, Bobby was the closest thing to a father he had, and he'd known that for a while now. Until recently, when he thought of his father, he thought of pain and fear. Lately, he when he thought of Bobby, he thought of someone who would do what most fathers did. Bobby had protected him, and he'd made sure he felt safe. He hadn't let him pull any shit, but he'd been treating him different than he used to, he'd been treating him like he cared.

He had a memory of his body being limp and unresponsive, everything around him was a blur and he had no idea what was happening. The only thing he was certain of was he'd been running because Jack had told him to. The pain in his head seemed to have taken his senses from him; he could remember that, and feeling someone dragging him. Somewhere in that confusion he'd heard Bobby. Bobby's voice, from far off, and it had been yelling his name, and he had been certain his brother was going to get to him. He remembered that feeling of being sure his brothers, all of them, would take care of him, and he wanted it back. He'd been craving it for years, and when he'd finally had it, it had been ripped away from him, by Adam Macks, and it seemed it had been done too easily.

Adam had told him his brothers didn't want him, and he'd believed him. He hadn't wanted to believe the words, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been waiting for Bobby to save him, only to be abandoned by him, by all four of them. The memories had morphed under the effects of the drugs Macks had pumped into him, and the words he'd spoken to him, and he'd been sure Bobby had handed him over to the man who held the title of 'Father'.

He didn't want to feel so alone anymore, it seemed he'd been struggling with that feeling since Evelyn had been shot, and it wouldn't go away, in fact, every time it seemed things were getting better they only got worse. He just wanted it to end, and he wanted to feel better. He didn't want to fight the confusion any more, or the anger. He wasn't even sure what the object of his anger really was. It seemed directed at Bobby, but he'd had no idea why. If Jack was right, then it wasn't really Bobby he was mad at. He'd been mad at his father for hurting him, for making his life hell. His mind was melding Bobby and Macks together, because he knew deep down that Bobby was the only father in his life. The meaning of the word, what it was supposed to mean, that was Bobby. The monster in his dream had worn Adam Macks' face, the father that was not a father. As confusing as it was it was starting to make sense to him, and the fact that he could figure that out brought on a whole new surge of fear, but it was blended with some kind of hope.

He wanted to get rid of that monster, he wanted him out of his head, but he knew from so many years of living as his son, that he always came back. How could he get him out of his head and feel safe if no one knew whether he was dead or alive? What would happen when he came back? What would he do to him next? He'd already tried to kill him, more than once, and it seemed the man was worse now than he had been so many years before. Maybe it only seemed that way now because he was older, and he understood what was happening to him when his father climbed on top of him, or allowed someone else to. When he was little, he hadn't really known anything else and it hadn't seemed so horrible. It had been hell, but not as bad as now.

Bobby was looking back at him, waiting it seemed, and his other brothers had fallen quiet. Jerry was pulling off his coat and gloves, and Angel and Jack were looking at him, he could feel their gazes. He didn't want to remember all of it, not the way they wanted him to. He had been fighting so hard to hide from it, telling himself he would deal with the storm inside of him when he was ready, though he knew honestly, he would never really be ready, and the longer he held it in the easier it seemed to be to convince himself he could wait longer.

Jack had said that real fathers take care of you and teach you to take care of yourself. If Bobby was going to teach him, then this was going to be one of the hardest lessons he'd ever had. He wanted to stop feeling so damn shitty, and he knew his way wasn't working, he was feeling worse, not better. He'd known from the start that it wasn't going to work and that only seemed to fuel the anger and frustration. This other plan of Bobby's scared him because he didn't know most of the answers to his own questions, let alone his brothers' questions. He didn't know why he was feeling the way he was, and he didn't know if he wanted to find out. He just wanted it to stop.

Now he was locked in a stare with Bobby, and he could feel his chest pressing hard against him, as if it were about to burst wide open, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to stop it. He waited for Bobby to say something, anything, to make that pressure go away and pull his mind away from the path of memories and fear that it was heading down, but Bobby looked as if he were waiting for something entirely different. Craig knew what he was waiting for, and knowing that Bobby expected it made it that much harder to hold in. He felt the pressure move upward, wrapping around his throat, choking off his ability to speak or breathe, but that lasted only a moment as it moved on, and started to empty out. His eyes blurred and he grabbed for Bobby, hoping his brother wouldn't turn away from him as he had earlier.

Bobby's arms moved around him, squeezing him hard into his chest, and the remaining walls of the damn busted open. Craig could hear himself screaming, and he could feel it coming out of his body. "He locked me up Bobby. He put me in a fucking bag and locked me in the back of a car. It was cold, and I couldn't move and I couldn't breathe." He cried out. "How can anyone do that to someone?" He didn't really want nor need an answer; the words were flowing out of him. "He hit on me, and he kicked me, and he put me in that room. He put me down there and took my clothes. He kept telling me you didn't want me, and the shots made him sound different, they made my head feel strange, and I couldn't do anything. He gave me to Jordan, and I had to do whatever he told me. He made me…" He had to take in air, and it seemed a struggle to get the slightest gasp into his lungs. "He made me take his pants off of him. He made me put my mouth on parts of him, and he made me…" He couldn't get the words out. He buried his head in Bobby's chest and held onto him tighter. "He made me ask him if I could put it in…" He spoke into the shirt. "He shoved it in so hard it hurt. It hurt my throat, and he laughed at me and told me I had to do better, that I wasn't doing it right." His body started shaking violently. "Make him stop, please make him stop." He begged as his mind remembered the pleas he had had held silent during the assault in the basement. "Somebody, help," He choked the words out.

"It's okay Craig, I've got you." Bobby's voice could barely be heard over the blood rushing through his ears combined with his own cries, he felt the protective arms tighten their hold slightly. He felt Bobby moving, pulling him back away from the chair and down onto his knees, on the floor.

"He put me in the closet, and he locked the door." Craig's mind was moving on him randomly from one flash of memory to another. "What did I do wrong? Why did he do that to me?" His head was starting to pound as his tears increased with intensity. It seemed they had been hiding just behind his memories, and there was no way to hold any of them in now.

Bobby didn't try to answer the questions, or if he did, Craig didn't hear the words. His mind was spinning around the memories of Adam Macks pulling him out of the dark closet and finding out he was in the same place that Sweet had held him captive in. "He made me remember what I really was, I'm nothing." His mind whirled around the stranger injecting him with something terrible, the pain in his head and the stitches that were administered while he laid there unable to move. The colors that spun around him and the pain that had filled him all seemed to go on forever until that monster crawled onto the bed, on top of him. "He pumped me full of drugs and then crawled on top of me." He felt himself pulling away from Bobby, or at least trying to, the man wouldn't release his hold on him. "He crawled on top of me and you weren't there to stop him." He felt the anger rising inside of him. "You said no one would do that to me again, you lied." He felt his hands pushing against Bobby, trying now to get out of his hold, wanting to hit at him, and scream at him. "He hurt me, he did things to me and turned me into nothing and you let him!" He felt the shrill volume of his own voice.

"Whoa!" Jerry's voice seemed to split the air. Craig could feel Jerry behind him, arms grabbing hold of him so that when he managed to break free from Bobby he couldn't lash out at the man. Jerry's hold pinned his arms down, and Bobby drew his arms back. The boy couldn't see Bobby's face through the rush of tears and he was thankful for that. He didn't want to see his face. He didn't want to feel so damned angry at him. He didn't want to see the anger glare that he was sure Bobby would be flashing at him.

"You let him hold me down and turn me into nothing but a thing to shove his cock into. He pushed it in and I had to do what he said, and it hurt, and I turned into nothing!" Craig screamed out. He could feel Jerry pulling him backwards, further away from Bobby. "No!" He tried to struggle against the hold, because as much as he wanted to hit something, he needed to feel Bobby close to him, he wanted Bobby to make him stop feeling so damned dirty and sick inside. He tried to reach for Bobby, but his arms were pinned down.

"Let him go Jerr'." Bobby's voice penetrated the cries that Craig could feel rolling out of him, like flood waters let loose when that dam inside of him broke. He felt hands grabbing his face, one on each side. Jerry's arms eased back. Craig reached up and grabbed hold of the hands pressing on each side of his face. He could barely make out Bobby in front of him.

"He ain't hitting at you this time Bobby, you can't take that right now." Jerry's voice sounded as if it were directly in the boy's left ear.

"He's fine!" Bobby sounded pissed that time. "He needs to get it out."

"He needs to understand we didn't let that fucker do anything! He was taken from us and we busted out asses, an arms and ribs to find him!" Jerry's voice came out just as pissed.

"He knows that." Jack spoke out from further away.

"That's right, he knows that." Bobby's voice was louder than before. "Don't you Craig? You know that we did all we could to get to you?"

"He hurt me, and you weren't there." Craig tried to pull the hands away from him.

"We came." Bobby countered.

"You let him take me. You were right there, and they took me." Craig tried to twist out of the hold, tried to pull back, but he could only go a fraction of an inch before he made contact with Jerry. "Let go of me!" He screamed out.

"We were right there?" Bobby sounded surprised. "You mean at the apartment? You remember that? You remember us crashing Ma's car trying to get to you? You remember the guns firing and the bullets? Do you remember all of that?" He kept his hold on the boy's face despite the struggle that was taking place. "You look me!" He yelled the words. "Answer me!"

"I heard you." Craig felt his body settle almost instantly without thinking about it. "I heard you, and I thought you were going to help me, but you didn't." He squeezed his eyes closed. "My head hurt, and I couldn't move. Someone grabbed me and I heard you. I heard you and you never came!"

"We tried, we did all we could. Think hard Craig, there were guns blasting. We were fighting to get to you, do you remember that?" Jerry spoke from behind him.

"I just heard Bobby." Craig's voice went weak as his mind replayed that night in his head. "Everything was spinning, and I couldn't move, but I heard Bobby and I knew it was going to be okay, he was going to make it stop. He was going to make everything okay, but he didn't." His hands reached out in front of him and he hit at the arms that were stretched out towards him, Bobby's arms. "Damn you, why didn't you make it stop!" His voice rose back to that scream. "I needed you and you weren't there! You left me!"

"I'm sorry Craig." Bobby's words sounded strange. "I'm sorry. I tried to get to you, we all fought like hell to get to you, you have to know that. I never should have left you and Jack alone, I did exactly what he figured I'd do, I separated us, and I won't make that mistake again. I'll never leave you anywhere like that again when I know there's trouble, I swear to you I won't."

The man's words seemed to stab into the boy's mind, making it through the layers of confusion and fear that were boiling over the edges of his soul. Craig felt silent as he let the words rest on his mind for a long moment. His hand held onto the arms in front of him, but he was no longer hitting at them or trying to pull them away. The tears were still falling, and he wanted to hold onto Bobby's promise and believe in it. "You said no one would ever touch me like that again, but he did." He muttered the words, his gaze fixed on Bobby's face.

"I know." Bobby nodded his head. "And I meant it when I said it. We did everything we could to find you Craig, and we did find you. We came for you, doesn't that mean anything?" Bobby's rose slightly, but it didn't sound angry. "We can't always be right, and we can't always be there to keep bad shit from happening. We can try, but it doesn't always work out that way, and as much as I hate it, it's just the way it is. Would you rather I lock you up in this house for the rest of your life? Keep you here, where it's always gonna be safe? You think you can live like that? Hell, why don't we lock all the doors and windows now and none of us leave the house ever again? That way we know we're always gonna be safe." Bobby's voice was unreadable. "We can order Chinese and pizza forever and flip through the television commercials until our fingers bleed."

Craig felt confused by the words. "That means Jerry can't go home to his wife and kids. Angel and Sofi, hell they don't need to see each other, right? And Jack, well, he had his shot at fame, it probably never would have worked out for him anyway. He likes his music, but what the fuck, his guitar is here, so he should be happy. I can sit on the couch and watch all the fucking hockey I want, I don't really need to go out there and play the game, do I? You got enough paper and crayons to get you through for a while. Does that sound like a plan to you?"

Craig knew the point Bobby was trying to make, but it didn't matter. "That's not fair. You can't say things like that. It's stupid, and it doesn't help." He cried out.

"The point is, there's always something that can happen, and you can't lock the world out and hide from it all Craig, you can't let it beat you like that, that's not really living, now is it? I can't change what happened. Life is full of shit and I can't always keep it away from you." Bobby shook his head. "I made my choices because I was trying to keep you safe. I could kick myself in the ass now for letting that son of a bitch set us up, but I didn't even know about him. I had no idea he was behind any of the shit that was coming down on us. Did you?" He asked the question carefully.

Craig shook his head. "No!" He cried out, unable to believe Bobby would even ask him that question.

"We found out he was coming after you and we busted our asses to get to you. I crashed Ma's car, and we all ended up banged up, but we were fighting for you ." Bobby asked.

Craig thought about the words, and nodded his head slowly. "But he said you didn't want me, and you weren't there." He cried out. "He said it was my fault, that he was the only one who cared about me. It's my fault that I'm dirty, and I'm not good for anything else but to make him money."

"He lied to you!" Bobby kept his face turned towards him so that he couldn't look away. "He lied to you, and he pumped you full of fuckin' drugs that made it easier for him to control you. You weren't to blame, and neither were we. It was him. He is the one who did this, not us, and it sure as hell wasn't you."

"I can't get him out of my head! I hear him talking to me, and I see his face, and I can feel him holding me down." Craig's hands made a sudden move to pull Bobby's hands away from him. "Don't touch me!" He screamed out the words as the memory of his Adam Macks seemed to swell into his brain, pushing everything else out. His mind held onto the memory of the man holding his mouth jaw hard and forcing his mouth open. The fears of what was coming when he was held down and what was going to be forced on him seemed to take control, and he wanted to get away, he wanted to run out the door and run as hard as he could for as long as he could.

The move was unexpected, and he was surprised that he actually managed to push Bobby's hands away. He turned to make a dash to his left, trying to get to his feet to get away from both Bobby and Jerry, wanting to get away from the fears that were rushing out of him so intensely, but he wasn't quick enough. Jerry's arms grabbed him from behind, and Bobby seemed to dive on him in the same instant. He ended up on his stomach, with Bobby on top of him his hand holding his arms just below his elbows, and Jerry lying on the floor next to him, both arms partially around him. He tried to squirm out from Bobby, but he felt hands grabbing his wrists. They weren't Bobby's, or Jerry's, he could tell where they were. When he looked up he found Angel hovering over him, his hands clamping onto his wrists firmly.

"You wanna try that again?" Angel spoke calmly. "You ain't running from this." He gave Craig a slight tug, pulling him off of the floor and out of Bobby and Jerry's holds. "You sit your ass down here." He pulled him back to the chair and dropped him into it. "You stay there." He warned as he released his hold. "You want to scream, fine, do it from the chair." He let his voice raise enough that Craig knew he was irritated. "We've done nothin' but bust our asses for you. You know that, and you understand that. That shit who fucked you over ain't gonna do it again. You can yell and scream at us all you want, but you ain't gonna run from it. You're stronger than that, you don't gotta run."

Craig stared up at Angel. He hadn't expected him to be mad at him, not like that.

"You feel any better after that little episode?" Angel asked.

Craig looked down at his hands. "I don't know." He muttered.

"Bullshit. You got some shit out, didn't you?" Angel pushed. "You're fucking pissed off, and you don't know why?" He nodded his head. "You're pissed off because that son of a bitch raped you. He did it most of your life, and he hurt you when he did it. Didn't he?"

Craig suddenly felt small. "I'm sorry." He spoke quickly.

"I don't want no apologies from you, child, I want you get your head straight, we all want you to get your head straight." Angel drew in a deep breath. "You know we love you. You know we will do everything we can to keep you safe, but we ain't no miracle workers. At some point you gotta take some control for yourself."

Craig could feel his insides freezing up on him, he was feeling better, but he still couldn't get past the image of Adam Macks that was holding onto his brain, unwilling to let go. He didn't know what he was supposed to say or do.

"He don't need that shit Angel." Bobby pushed past Angel and crouched in front of him again. "Craig, it's okay." He rested his hands on the boy's knees. "You didn't do anything wrong. You just can't try to run from us. You gotta face it." He spoke as loud as Angel had been talking.

Craig looked at Bobby. "I can't get him out of my head Bobby." He spoke quietly. "I can hear him and I can see him and he won't go away, and he scares me."

Bobby nodded his head. "You want your paper? Can you draw him for me?" He asked.

Craig thought about the words. He nodded his head slowly.

"You gotta tell me what you're drawing though Craig. You have to talk to me and tell me everything about the picture." Bobby told him, his voice a little calmer than before.

Craig nodded his head.

"Okay. Angel, get his pad out of the desk and bring it over here." He stood long enough to grab Craig's arms and lift him from the chair. He sat down, pulling the boy onto his lap.

Craig watched Angel walk to the desk. "I'm sorry." He looked at Bobby again. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay. We were all expecting it." He grinned at the boy for a moment before looking very serious. "But you listen to me, needing to get it out is good, and telling us what you've been telling us is great. We'll do what he can to help you feel better; we want you to feel better. But don't run from us Craig. Don't run from me, ever again. I can't handle that. It scares me. You're supposed to run to me, not away from me. Remember, you're my kid?"

Craig felt all of the fear drain out of him instantly. He let turned his body into his oldest brother and sobbed as hard as before, grabbing hold of him and welcoming the arms around him again. "You'll never leave me?" He asked the question with a weak voice; already knowing for the first time there was no reason to be afraid of that happening, but needing to hear the words.

"I'll never leave you. I won't lose you either, not to that son of a bitch in your head, or the things that you're so afraid of." Bobby spoke quietly into his ear. "Let's get him out of your head." He reached out and took the sketch pad from Angel's outstretched hand.


	16. Chapter 16

Sorry for the delay, holiday stuff needing done and so much to do in so little time :)

Thanks to all for the reviews! Keep them coming please? Good or bad I need to know what you think!

Still do not own, still make no money!

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**Chapter 16: The Devil Himself**

Jeff Jones pulled his self onto the bar stool, and motioned for the man behind the bar. "Whiskey," He called out. He looked around at the thin number of clientele. This place was small, and it was run down, but it was quiet and peaceful. He wasn't sure why he preferred that at the moment. He wasn't even sure what had struck him to go out for a drink. He hadn't been to the diner, and he'd been considering that, hoping to get a look at that waitress he'd been eying, but he'd ended up in the shitty bar.

He found his gaze scanning the few people lining the bar, and the fewer number that had opted to sit at a table. There were five others sharing the space inside, and no sign of the short chubby bitch that he'd awaken next to that very morning. He wasn't sure why he felt disappointment, he didn't want to see her, and he hadn't come here intending to locate her for any reason. It wasn't as if he wanted her back in his bed, not that he could remember having her in his bed the first time.

He took his whiskey from the bartender and handed him a fifty, "Keep 'em comin'." He muttered before taking a gulp of the liquid fire.

He drew in a deep breath and looked up towards the television sitting on the shelf in the corner just behind the bar. The box was ancient, and the picture wasn't too clear, but it seemed sufficient for the place, it seemed to fit the old, worn out look of the torn plastic backs of the stools and the cracking finish on the wood bar. Hell, it fit the way he was feeling right then. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt as if he'd been worn down somehow. Here he was looking for a woman he didn't want to see, hell he had to admit it, though he didn't want to. He felt a need to share the night with someone, rather than sitting in that fucking motel room alone. It wasn't like Adam Macks to feel a need like that. He didn't need anyone, he preferred being above the most primal human instinct of being around other people. He wasn't one to socialize. Tending to business had always been enough for him; he was in contact with plenty of stupid shits on a daily basis to curb the need for human company, most people were just fucking idiots.

Jeff Jones on the other hand couldn't seem to get those fucking eyes out of his head. He felt a twinge deep inside when he thought about them and let the memory of them come alive in his mind. The emotion behind them that morning when he'd told that bitch to get out of his room seemed to haunt him. He thought about Lydia's eyes and the emotion that they had invoked in him all those years ago.

He needed those fucking eyes to look into, he needed to see them and feel them peering into his soul. Those eyes reminded him of a time when he had hope for something more than the need for control, a brief moment in his life when he had realized there was more than his father's will to live for, and that there was something more to life than trying to avoid his mother's look of disdain.

He had fallen in love with the feeling those eyes had enveloped him in, that feeling of safety and independence. He had yearned for that most of his life, and then when he had it, it seemed he couldn't control it. He had no control over what he could do once that freedom had been unleashed in him. It had been overbearing and yet so fucking inviting at the same time. Lydia could control every fucking thing in his life just by looking at him with her eyes. It seemed those hazel orbs held the secrets to life in them, and he had been yearning to hold them again for so long that he'd lost a good sense of what and who he had once been. But he was coming back, and he was going to be stronger and better than ever.

The nameless woman who'd had the fucking balls to tell him to leave her the hell alone, she held the same secrets behind her eyes, just as Lydia had, he knew that, and for some reason he had to try to grasp for it. Part of him, the Adam Macks that had killed the love of his life and turned his son into a fucking bitch, wanted no part of this, but Jeff Jones needed it. He needed the touch of someone gentle, and willing to give him what he yearned for. He needed to feel someone touching him, and wanting him. He was sure that it had been good the night before, though he couldn't remember it now. He'd been with someone who needed his touch as well, and that was a sensation he hadn't felt in years. He had forced himself on people, forced his will, and his own desires on anyone he could get his hands on, his son included. He'd forgotten the feeling of being wanted because it hadn't been a need before. Now it was.

Adam Macks reasoned that he should concentrate on getting his fucking business taken care of. Get the money together, head back to Detroit, and concentrate on getting his son back. He needed to get his hands on that kid more than ever now. He needed to teach him a lesson for his disobedience. He'd fought against him, he'd pulled away from him, and he couldn't let that go without some kind of fucking blood. He didn't argue with Jones too much though, hell, it didn't hurt to have a little fun while they were getting their shit together. Just so long as Jones didn't lose sight of the big picture and forget what their goals truly were, the man could have all the fucking he wanted. He laughed quietly to himself as his attention was drawn to the late news coming on the old T.V. he'd been scrutinizing just minutes before.

He wasn't really interested in the weather, or the sports, he'd never been much for sports. His mind was wandering off as he downed the shots coming to him one after another, thinking about that woman, considering asking the bartender about her, if he knew her name or if she came in much. Was she really as lonely as he felt or had it been a game to her? Had she reallly wanted a night with him for comfort, or had she been using him the way he used other people?

The news man on the television caught his attention when he started talking about a car theft at a local dealership. He forgot about the woman, for the moment and listened as the story was relayed about a Ford Mustang being stolen off the sales lot of the dealer, and how heroic the salesmen had been, trying to chase down the thief as he sped away, tearing up the lot, smashing into a utility pole and cutting ruts into the grassy patch separating the street and sidewalk. He chuckled to himself as he remembered honking his horn at the fucking idiots playing their card game.

His amusement dwindled when the video off the thief moving in on his target was aired. He studied the grainy quality, though it was difficult to make out just how much of the quality was the video and how much was the snow that clouded out the picture on the television to begin with. He wasn't too worried; it didn't appear that even if the video had been good that his face or much of his form could be made out. He had been completely hidden from the camera most of the time. He took his next shot from the man behind the bar and took it down, the burning not as intense now. He was starting to feel relaxed, and a little more at ease. The first few shots had warmed his bones and drawn him into an intoxicated way.

His mind started to fixate on his plans for his son, letting the woman drift away from his thoughts. He decided to order some food to enjoy with his drink, not that the food was going to be anywhere near the quality of what he'd had if he went to the diner, but it was food none the less. About the time his burger and onion rings got to him the news was over and a rerun of some old sitcom came on. He heard the bell on the door dinging just as he was about to take a bite of an onion ring, but he didn't really take much notice of it. He laughed at a stupid assed joke on the television and chewed on the onion. He felt someone sit on the stool on his other side, and when he glanced over, he was surprised to find himself staring into those eyes.

Her voice was quiet as she spoke, "Well, if it isn't the devil himself."

* * *

Bobby let Craig have his paper and one of his new pencils. He kept him seated in his lap to that he could see what he drew. He needed to see what Adam Macks looked like, and he was sure that if he told Craig he needed a picture of him so they would know him if they seen him that it wouldn't go over well. He felt he'd made a mistake telling the kid they hadn't found his body, but he'd wanted to be honest with him. He couldn't handle having to look Craig in the eye if the man showed and he'd been told he was dead, or led to believe that fact.

He watched the boy flip through the pad, noticing the pictures that he quickly moved passed, almost as if they were poison to him. He knew they would be going through this sketch pad soon enough, he didn't make the boy stop and dwell on any of the memories stored there, not yet. He needed to see a picture of Adam Macks. He needed to see one that was recent, and he needed to make sure that his brothers had a good look at it as well.

Craig quickly flipped through to the last pages, one page with pencil marks and forms ghosting about on the paper caught Bobby's attention. Craig moved on past sketches he'd done of Evelyn, and was working through other images quickly, as if he couldn't stand to look at them now, but Bobby reached out and took control of the paper, moving back to the image that seemed to speed up his pulse. "What is this?" He asked, holding the sketch up for Craig to see. It looked familiar. He recognized the staircase off to one side, and the dead bodies positioned on the floor. He knew what it was, he recognized that moment. He remembered Jeremiah telling him of the view he'd seen through the window, and how he'd nearly gone in at that moment, but was worried about the knife that had been in Macks' hand with the blade held so close to Craig's throat, carving into his chest. He'd been sure the man would kill the kid if he barged in right then. The image in the center of the page wasn't completed there was a face, but it had been roughed in, the eyes looking wicked and hard.

He realized just how much terror had been implanted into the kid's psyche at that moment, and he wondered how Craig had managed to survive the earlier years with this man. He wondered if there would ever be any hope of driving that monster completely out, the doubt was hanging in the back of his mind. All he could do was make the boy deal with what had happened and face it head on. That's what the Mercers did; they dealt with the shit that had been forced on them when they were younger and they moved past it, each in their own unique way.

Craig seemed to shiver as he stared at the partially completed picture. "I started it before." He muttered.

Bobby's mind reasoned that this picture had been the one Craig had been drawing when Jack walked in on him. "What is it?" He asked quietly. "Finish it now." He pushed the paper into Craig's hands.

"I can't." Craig shook his head, his eyes fixed on the image in front of him.

"It's him, isn't it? You want him out of your head? You were trying to get him out when you started this? This is what you were doing when Jack walked in and found you barely able to keep your defenses up, right?" Bobby reached around the boy and grabbed hold of the hand gripping the pencil. He moved it so that the tip of the pencil rested on the page. "Finish it." He didn't want to sound like a hard ass, but he had to keep his voice steady, and firm. The kid seemed to respond better if he didn't give him a choice when it came to the hard shit.

The hand trembled slightly, and there was a long hesitation, but Craig started to move his hand and pencil, adding more form to the vague image of Adam Macks. Bobby shifted his stare from the page, up to Craig's face. There was fear written all over him, and dread. He didn't want to put this scene down on paper, though it had obviously been one of the more vivid memories in his head and had been pushing its way out just days before.

It must have been one of the most frightening moments from his time with Adam Macks. The man looming above him with that large knife pressed into his skin, marking him. Putting his mark on him, and what he said to the kid while he did it, God and Craig only knew, but it had been enough to keep him still while he carved his initials into him and tried to make it a permanent imprint by mixing ink into the open wounds.

The doctors had been horrified at the sight of it, just as his brothers had been. Of course Bobby had been more pissed than horrified. He's seen some shitty things in his life, and this was another shitty thing to add to the list, but it had happened to his kid brother and it pissed him off. He was thankful when the team of doctors had managed to clean the cuts out, trim around them and stitch them up in a way that the letters weren't recognizable. They even said that the scaring should be minimal. The last thing the kid needed was to look into the mirror and see a vivid reminder of what that devil did to him.

Craig's body shuddered, bringing Bobby's mind back to the present, and the reason he was drawing the picture on the page. He looked down at the face Craig was detailing; the face of the devil himself was coming to life in front of him. He leaned closer to Craig. "What did he say to you Craig?" He asked quietly.

Jerry stepped over and leaned in enough to see the picture.

Craig's hand stopped, poised with the dark tip of the pencil pressed into the neck of Adam Macks. He didn't look up from the picture. "I belong to him." He spoke the words quietly, and they seemed to be void of all emotion. "I'm his, he owns me." His hand was putting pressure on the pencil it held. "He put the mark on me to prove it." The dark point snapped, and Craig seemed to flinch, as if he were brought out of some deep trance. "He made me give up."

"You remember what I told you before? You're mine." Bobby looked at the boys' face, the tension in his jaw, and the pained expression across his eyes. "You're my kid, you're my brother." He grabbed Craig's jaw and turned his face up to look at him straight on. "He was wrong to touch you, and hurt you. It wasn't your fault, you didn't do anything wrong. You did what you had to, so that you could stay alive. I know what he would have done to you if you had fought him, and I know that deep down, no matter what you think you did, you did not give up." He kept his voice firm. "I can say that over and over, and it ain't gonna do any good if you don't really believe it. So you tell me, do you believe it?"

"I did give up. I gave in." Craig swallowed hard and Bobby could see a fresh surge of tears building inside of him. "He took my soul, and I let him…"

Bobby shook his head. "I told you before; I was saving that for you." He spoke the words in a whisper. "I kept it safe so he couldn't get it."

Craig stared at him for a long moment. "Is that why you were there?" He asked.

Bobby didn't understand the question. "What do you mean? We came for you, yeah." He thought that maybe the kid was getting more confused.

Craig shook his head, "No, before." He looked back down at the sketchpad and started turning the pages, carefully. Bobby watched images of his mother move past, then a haunting sketch of Jordan that seemed to clench at his throat. The position of the man, the lack of clothing on him burned into his gut hard. He was gonna have to kill that man. The two dead bodies with an endless flow of blood came next, and then a familiar looking image of Adam Macks that appeared to be under water. Bobby remembered the renderings from earlier years that they had looked at before. Macks wasn't the one under the water, it had been Craig, looking up through the water at Macks. It was identical to the earlier version, but obviously applied to the page with more skill and detail.

The page Craig had been looking for came next and he held it up for Bobby to examine. "You wouldn't shut up." Craig muttered as Bobby held the pad in one hand and looked at the drawing. What was supposed to be walls, a floor and a ceiling had been shadowed in black. In the center of it all was a rendering of him, sitting cross legged on the floor, it seemed to jump off the page of black, an optical illusion caused by the way it had been drawn, but it had a haunting effect none the less. "You made me dig out the dirt under the door." Craig was speaking.

Bobby could feel the movement in the room as his brothers all came close to look at the picture. He felt Craig's head rest on his shoulder. "And when I got to the top of the stairs the door was locked and you got me all pissed off so I tried to kick you in the balls." Craig sniffed at some tears, despite the fact that Angel laughed out loud. "And I kicked the door open. You made met go upstairs and hide." Craig's voice sounded weak. "And when I heard voices downstairs you told me to go down and get their help." Craig's body was trembling in the man's arms again. Bobby understood what he was saying. He'd counted on his big brother even when he wasn't there. That meant the kid understood, deep down that his brothers were going to be there, no matter how easily he claimed to have given into Macks. He knew they would come for him, and he had been holding out for it. "If I hadn't gone downstairs they wouldn't have died." Craig muttered. "If I'd stayed in the basement they wouldn't have died. He killed them because of me."

"Bullshit." Jack spoke that time. "He shot them Craig, not you. He would have shot them no matter where you were. If you had stayed in the basement they would have still been dead. He would have killed them no matter what. They were at the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't your fault."

Bobby was sure he could feel tension release from the teen on his lap. "Is that why you were there? Were you keeping my soul safe?" He seemed to be keeping his gaze fixed on the pad of paper.

Bobby looked down at him. "Damn well better believe it." He spoke the words a little louder than he needed to, but it was an opening that he couldn't let get passed him. The kid had known his brothers were coming, whether he'd realized it at the time or not. He looked at his other three brothers, all of them gathered around the chair. He flipped the pages in the pad back to the picture of Adam Macks and stared at it for along moment. "This is the monster from your nightmare." He spoke quietly.

Craig didn't respond to the words. He seemed to pull closer to Bobby.

"What was the dream about?" Bobby asked the question slowly. "What was he doing to you in your dream?" He could feel the trembling from the boy again. "You gotta trust us Craig. He can't hurt you, it was a dream. You can draw it all out if you need to, but you are gonna talk." He held the sketch pad out to the boy.

Jack and Angel each seemed comfortable sitting on the floor in front of the chair. Jerry pulled the other chair over and sat down, leaning up with his elbows propped up on his knees, and they all waited. Bobby was tempted at one point to try to prod the boy. He watched as, after several minutes Craig raised the pencil up and looked at it. "It's broke." He muttered, referring to the point that he'd busted off in Adam Macks' neck minutes before.

Jerry looked around quickly for the small sharpener that Craig usually had sitting on one of the shelves. He found it and handed it to the boy. Craig sharpened the tip slowly, as if he were trying to put off the inevitable. He stared at the sharp point when he was done and let out a heavy sigh, apparently resigning himself to the fact he had to do this. Bobby knew the boy didn't want to pull that dream out of his head and put it down on paper, but he wasn't going to let it go, not now, not after they had come this far.

Bobby was sure that somewhere in the whole mess something had to be coming together and making sense. He just couldn't see it right then. Maybe he was looking for it too hard. Maybe he had expected some sort of miracle healing for all of them and that's not what he was getting. He was feeling more confused as the boy started drawing. Instead of feeling as if they were making progress he had a nagging feeling that there was more, and they had only seen the tip of the whole jagged edge.

He told himself it was going to take time, a lot of time, before Craig would be able to get past what that son of a bitch had done to him; but then, as he watched the images taking shape under the boy's hand, and he forced Craig to tell him what the pictures meant, he could feel it in his bones; no amount of time was going to be enough, not if there was a chance that the man was still alive and walking this earth. Craig might improve, but he would never get past it, not until he was told that Adam Macks was definitely dead and would never be able to hurt him again.

Bobby knew what he had to do. It was time to start looking for Macks. He had to find out if that man was dead or alive. If he found him alive, he wouldn't stay that way for long. He was going to make sure that man paid for what he'd done to them all. He had all he needed now; he had looked into the eyes of the devil himself, and he would know him anywhere.


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks to all for reading, and let me know what you think :) Review please????

Don't own, make no money

* * *

**Chapter 17: What Now?**

Craig felt as if here were at the end of a long tunnel, watching everything he was drawing out through the tiny opening at the end. Bobby was talking to him, and he was responding, and he could feel the flood of his own conflicting emotions reaching the end of the outpour. He felt as everything inside of him had emptied out and now he wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel.

After the dream was emptied onto the page, Bobby took the pages from him and started finding other pictures to question. He made him describe his time in the basement, the things his imaginary Bobby had said to him, and had instructed him to do. He made him tell them about the way his father stripped him of his clothes and put an old nasty shirt on him in preparation of Jordan having his way with him. He made him describe the images in his mind of the two teenagers being shot down. If there wasn't a picture to represent the vision from his mind, he had him draw it out, making him put it into words as he sketched out the horror that he had witnessed when the girls head had exploded into shards of bone and a mass of blood and brain splattered about the room, and how it had been so familiar with the memory of his mother's death. At one point he thought he was going to throw up, but Bobby held him tightly and told him he wouldn't, that he needed to share with them what he'd seen, and what he had thought.

His tears would subside for a short time, until his brothers would probe deeper into his brain, prying out more, grabbing hold of other emotions and ripping them away from him, bringing on a new rush of tears, sparking memories that had previously been drowned out by the light show of colors that had danced around in his concussed brain. Several times he fought against Bobby's hold, trying to move from his place on his lap, but Bobby would only tighten his hold, "Don't fight us Craig, you ain't goin' nowhere, you're staying right here, and you're gonna face the shit in your head." He repeated the same words each time. "Stop trying to run from it, I ain't gonna let you."

It seemed with each picture he drew, and each description his brothers pried out of his head, deeper, better hidden emotions were drawn out towards the surface. He had initially spilled out his anger at his brothers, at Bobby, for not being there, and had let his fears of not belonging with them dribble out around him, and they had picked up that emotional ball and run with it, dissecting his feelings. It felt as if they were pulling his emotions out, rearranging them and then putting them back in an order that he could look at them and understand them better himself and it all seemed overwhelming.

It was an odd sensation, having all four of his brothers surrounding him, and forcing him to talk about the fears and pain that he had been holding in. It wasn't just from recent events, but emotions stirring from years before, when he was still small, and unaware of any other life than being Adam Macks' object to be abused and assaulted on a daily bases. The older sketch pads came out of the box, and they were passed around and he answered questions, and cried when the pain seemed to dig too deep.

He told them about his mother, about the needles and the neglect that resulted from her drug addiction. She hadn't been mean, she'd even tried to clean up, had tried to be a good mother, but the monster of Adam Macks always came back and sucked her back into that endless hole of highs and trips that kept her unaware of what was going on around her. Craig knew she was an addict, he understood Adam had kept her that way, but amazingly he found he was angry with her for letting his father sink his wretched claws into them both over and over like that. Once that was out, guilt that he'd not been aware of surfaced. He was angry at his mother and he felt guilty for that anger; guilty for feeling so angry at the only person who had loved him on some level when he was small.

He wasn't sure how long they had sitting there, but it seemed he started to feel empty on the inside, as if he'd poured everything out and there wasn't anything left. He could hear his brothers talking, and their voices were soothing to his aching chest. He let his head rest on Bobby's shoulder while he listened to them, and that was all he remembered. He let his eyes close and his mind drifted off into a quiet, dreamless sleep. The first one he'd had in what seemed a lifetime.

* * *

Jerry looked up at Bobby. "He's out cold." He shook his head, keeping his voice at a quiet level.

Bobby looked down at the boy and then at the troubled looks etched across the faces around him. "This was a good thing, right? I mean we did the right thing here?" He spoke quietly, needing confirmation from his brothers, the people closest to him.

Jack was holding onto a sketchpad, staring at the picture on the page in front of him. "Shit, there was a hell of a lot more than any of us expected. You know, it might not be a bad idea to get him to a real doctor." He finally looked up at Bobby; his eyes held unshed tears behind them.

"You said before that it wouldn't do him any good. He's been to a so-called real doctor, a couple of them, and it never helped. What makes you think all of a sudden that it would work now?" Angel looked at Jack.

Jack shook his head and turned to Angel. "Hell, I don't know that it would work now, I'm just wondering if we really helped him, that's all." He spoke, keeping his voice quiet. "Some things need a real doctor, that's all I'm sayin'." He returned his gaze to Bobby and sighed, as if he was trying to relay an unspoken message, but Bobby didn't understand it. He was praying that what they had just experienced would be enough for Craig, and allowing the idea that it wouldn't just didn't seem to be an option.

"I think it helped him. Hell, he fell asleep, that must mean something. Look at his face, he ain't got all that shit fucking up his head, you can see it on his face." Angel pointed to Craig, who was breathing easy and looked very small sitting on Bobby's lap.

"I guess we're just gonna have to wait and see what happens next." Jerry spoke up. "Time will tell the story." He stood slowly. "In the mean time, Angel, what the hell are ya cookin' for dinner?"

Angel scowled at his older brother standing over him. "What do you mean what am I cookin' for dinner?" He asked.

"Bobby said you'd be cookin' dinner. I'm here for dinner, so what are you gonna be cookin'?" Jerry held a hand out to help Angel to his feet.

"Well it would've been nice to know ahead of time that I was gonna be cookin' tonight." Angel gave Bobby a threatening look before joining Jerry in helping Jack to his feet.

"Hell, make spaghetti, everyone likes spaghetti." Jack suggested. "Just make sure you do some of that bread too." He grinned at Angel, but it looked as if it were forced, at least to Bobby. The man wondered just what was going on in Jack's head at that moment. Had the talk brought back too much for his other baby brother? Were they going to end up going through similar shit with him now? He had dealt with his past long ago, or so they all thought; but was Craig's pain bringing his own back too strong for him to handle?

"I don't even know what we got in the cupboards; we probably need to go to the store. Sofi's been takin' care of the shit in the kitchen lately." Angel turned and glared at Bobby once more, the words bring Bobby out of his concerned thoughts for Jack.

Bobby flashed his signature 'innocent' smile at his younger brother. "What? You want me to cook? I'll cook. I can make toasted cheese sandwiches and…."

"Hell no, you keep out of the kitchen." Angel cried out, "I'll figure something out, but you ain't comin' near the stove." He turned and walked out of the room, still talking as he moved away.

Bobby laughed and looked up at Jerry. "I told you we'd get Angel to cook up somethin'."

Jerry grinned and looked down at the boy in Bobby's lap. "You gonna leave him there or put him on the couch?" He questioned.

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "Hell, leave him here for now. Let's make sure he ain't gonna have one of those nightmares. Besides, if I get out of this chair I'm gonna be tempted to head straight to the kitchen and harass the cook. You don't want me to do that do you?"

"We need to talk Bobby." Jack spoke up, holding up the most recent sketch of Adam Macks Craig had scratched out. "We need to talk about this thing and what we're gonna do about him." There was a strange tone to Jack's voice that Bobby couldn't quite nail down. He didn't like the way his little brother was sounding at that moment.

"What the hell you mean 'we'?" Jerry turned to Jack. "You ain't gonna do shit boy, you're gonna keep your ass down and quiet."

"The hell I am. I'm fine. I'm feeling great, and I'm gonna help with this." Jack spoke to Jerry, and then turned and looked at Bobby. "I need to." He added, aiming the comment in Bobby's direction, as if he was sure he would understand his words, and Bobby did understand them, or he thought he did at least.

Bobby sighed and looked down at Craig, who seemed to look more peaceful at that moment than he had in weeks. Even when he'd thought the kid was doin' good he'd still been haunted by shit that they hadn't known about. "Let's put him in Jack's bed in the dining room, we can talk in the kitchen, and I can keep an eye on him." He relinquished to the need to start planning for ridding the world of the monster Craig had been struggling against all of his life.

Jerry helped Bobby lift Craig as he stood, and walked ahead of him to make sure the bedding was pulled back for Craig to be slipped into the comfort of the sheets. Bobby lowered the teen carefully, and was relieved when Craig seemed to sense he was a bed and didn't wake. His arm grabbed the pillow, pulling it to him, and he let out a small sigh as he clutched onto the blankets Jerry dropped over him, pulling them around shoulders and snuggling down like a small child.

Bobby let Jerry and Jack lead the way into the kitchen while he eyed Craig for a moment longer to be sure he wasn't going to wake. He turned after several seconds and walked as softly as his heavy legs would allow. He looked at Jerry and Jack, who had taken up chairs at the table and then at Angel, who was busy pulling cans and boxes out of the cupboards.

"What the hell you gonna cook up for the night?" Bobby grabbed the chair next to Jack and maneuvered it around the table so that he could sit at the end, facing the cook.

Angel didn't turn to look at anyone; he kept his gaze focused on the open cupboard. "I'm making baked spaghetti." He grunted.

"Oh that sounds good." Jerry grinned and rubbed his hands together as if he were anticipating the meal. "I told Camille I would be late, so take your time."

Bobby looked at Jack, who was still holding onto the pad with the sketch of Adam Macks, staring at it hard. He didn't like the expression that seemed have shadowed Jack's face for the past hour or two. It was one that he couldn't define, but it sent chills down his back. "You're awful damn interested in that fucking picture." He muttered.

Jack looked at Bobby. "Yeah, well, I know this shit hole." He spoke quietly, his voice trembled slightly and Bobby suddenly recognized the look on his brother's face.

* * *

Jeff Jones stared into those eyes, caught up in the memories they provoked deep inside. She smiled at him, and reached out to his pack of cigarettes resting on the bar next to his platter of food. She helped herself to one of his smokes and sighed as she looked at him. He smile faded after several moments, "You in here looking for me?" She asked the question with no emotion in her voice.

Jones let his own smile form. She didn't look happy to see him, but she didn't look disappointed either. "No, I'm in here for some drinks and some food." He felt his words slurring under his attempt to act as if he could care less if this woman was sitting next to him, "You in here looking for me?" He asked, trying to turn the question around on her. He thought he sounded smooth.

She laughed. "I'm in here every night, after I get off work." She drew deeply on the cigarette she'd snatched from him. She stared at him for a long moment. "Everything we said last night is lost on you, ain't it? You don't remember a fucking thing." She sounded bitchy, but she looked disappointed somehow.

"I was drunk last night." He knew the remark sounded asinine as he stumbled over the words. "Hell, I'm drunk tonight." He forced a laugh. He was drunk, just not off the chart, as he had been the night before.

"You didn't act so drunk last night." The woman turned and looked at the bartender. "Whiskey, please," She sounded sweet when she spoke to the man serving the drinks and Jones didn't understand why she felt she needed to sound so bitchy with him.

Jones motioned at the bartender, "It's mine." He hadn't used up his fifty yet, he was sure, and if he had, there was plenty more in his pocket.

The bartender nodded his head and set the lady up with her drink. She turned and looked at him, her eyes narrowed down. "I ain't goin' with you tonight you sick fucker." She shook her head and her hand eased up to brush against the blackened eye. "My old man had lots of questions for me about this." She looked away from him, staring into the mirror that lined the back side of the bar. "Stupid son of bitch bought it when I said a customer got pissed and slugged me."She sighed.

"You got an old man at home." Jones shook his head and quickly drained his glass.

"I told you all about him last night. I sure as hell ain't gonna go through all of that again." She didn't look at him. "Maybe you should lay off the shit if you can't handle it." She took her drink once it was set down in front of her and sipped on it.

Jones laughed at the sight of a woman sipping on a whiskey as if it were some fine wine. He shook his head and slid his own empty glass down the bar, letting the man know he needed another. "Look, I'm sorry if I disappointed you." He could hear the irritation in his voice; he hadn't pictured their next encounter to go this way.

She laughed and finally turned to him. "I wasn't disappointed." She sounded amused. "Hell, I got just what I wanted. So did you. We both got a good fuck and then went our separate ways. That's what we agreed on. I needed something, and I got it. You needed something, and you got it. What else do you want from me?"

"How about a fucking name for one thing?" Jones could hear the ice coating his words. The bitch was pissing him off and he wasn't sure why.

"Donna," She didn't seem fazed one bit by his tone. "You really were drunk weren't you?" She asked.

He shook his head and stared at her. The black eye had been masked as well as possible. "I'm sorry for that." He motioned to the eye.

"I wanted a good fuck; I didn't want to be fucked over good." She turned away again. "I get enough of that from my old man." She spoke the last words quietly, as if she hadn't intended to say them.

Jones' heart clenched on him, and he wasn't sure why. He had busted the shit out of her himself in a moment of passion, and it wasn't as if she was his woman; but the idea of someone else hitting her seemed wrong. He knew it made no sense. Hell, he'd beat the shit out of many a good fucks and it never bothered him one bit when he handed them over to someone else who liked to punch on them.

As he looked at her, he wondered what the hell it would be like to be with a woman, and not hit her. He hadn't had that kind of rush since his Lydia. He hadn't hit her in the beginning. He'd treated her like a queen, always doting, and taking care of her, wanting to take care of her anyway. He had done all he could to make her happy, whether it was in his bed or not, her every wish had been like a command to him. His need to provide what she wanted had been his downfall, and the hitting had been his way of fighting against that need.

He wondered now if Donna had ever had that. Maybe that was what she had been looking for when she'd gone back to his motel the night before, and all he'd done was treat her like a common whore. No wonder she was acting like a bitch with him now. "I don't normally hit women." He lied through his teeth, and he was surprised at how clear and steady his voice came when he said it. "I am sorry about that."

Her face slowly turned towards him. "I don't normally sleep with strange men." She let the words come out with barely a whisper. "I normally don't cheat on my husband." She diverted her gaze down to the wedding ring on her finger. She reached for it with her other hand and started playing with it on her finger. "But I never knew about his cheating before either." Her voice was soft and gentle now, and instead of the bitchy feel that she'd been projecting, it sounded sad. "Damn him for doing this to me." She sounded as if she were about to cry. "I do love him." She looked up into Jones' eyes, tears pooling around those hazel diamonds. "You understand that, right? I do love him."

Jones felt the electricity in the air. He was about to have the chance to have this woman, Donna, and remember what it was like to have a woman, albeit an ugly woman, without having to hit on her to get his kicks. He smiled at her, "I know you do." He looked at the bartender as his next shot was set down in front of him. "One more for the lady," He grunted out, and then sighed out, "Please."


	18. Chapter 18

Okay all, let me know what you thing! Thanks for reading, and to those of you that reivew, thanks a million times over :)

Do not own, make no money.

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**Chapter 18: Little Brothers**

Bobby stared at Jack, his voice caught in his throat, his heart seemed to stop in his chest and the air was quickly sucked out of the kitchen. His ears started ringing hard and barely recognized the sound of glass smashing on the kitchen floor, or the movement of Jerry standing quickly, moving to help Angel clean up the jar of whatever it was he'd dropped at the sound of Jack's words. His gaze glued onto Jack, and the walls around him seemed to pull in sharply, forming a tunnel that left Jack dead center.

Jack stood quickly and stepped to the refrigerator, jerking on the handle and pulling out a beer. He didn't bother closing the door, he twisted off the top and chugged it right there in cool air drifting out of the large appliance, draining it in a matter of seconds.

"What the fuck you mean you know him?" Bobby heard his voice coming out, but couldn't remember collecting his thoughts enough to piece any kind of a coherent sentence together.

Jack stepped away from the refrigerator, allowing the door to bang closed. "I need a smoke." His voice was still shaky. His eyes looked almost hallow. He walked out of the kitchen, setting the empty beer bottle down on the counter as he passed it by; he was heading for the stairs.

Jerry was stooped over the mess on the floor, picking up shards of glass out of what had once been the sauce for their dinner. He turned and looked at Bobby. "Ain't you gonna go talk to him?" He asked.

"He'll be back. Not like he's goin' anywhere." Bobby shook his head, his voice sounding calm despite the pure furry that was starting to rise inside of him. What the fuck had Jack not told them?

"What do you mean he ain't goin' nowhere? You just heard him. He's heading out for some smokes." Angel was grabbing for a dishrag to collect the sauce from the floor.

"You see any shoes on his feet?" Bobby realized he'd been staring at the doorway Jack had just stormed out of. He shifted his stare to Angel who was crouched down on the floor.

Angel scowled at him. "What the fuck does that have to do with the price of eggs in China?" He looked confused.

Bobby remembered hearing their mother use the same phrase and found it a little calming to hear his brother repeating the words they had all scoffed at in their younger years. "He ain't goin' nowhere cause he don't have no shoes." Bobby shook his head. "I hid them this morning before I took Craig to the doctor. I didn't want any repeats of last night while I was gone." He looked pointedly at Angel, who looked down at his own feet clad in socks only. "Watch where you're stepping there little brother, you ain't got no shoes either."

Angel started to say something, but stopped himself. He shook his head slowly and mumbled something under his breath.

"You don't think someone needs to go after him?" Jerry asked, sounding more than a little concerned.

"He didn't want no one following him." Bobby looked back to the doorway, not willing to admit that he was fighting down the urge to go running after his little brother that very moment. "He ain't Craig; he needs a minute. Just give it a minute, he'll be back." He also wasn't about to admit that there may have been a pair of shoes upstairs that he'd missed when he'd collected them earlier that morning while Craig was in the shower. He strained his ears to listen for the sound of the front door. If he heard the door he'd be on his feet in an instant.

He glanced down at Jerry and Angel, watching them clean up the mess on the floor. "That gonna ruin our dinner?" He asked once the mess was sufficiently sopped, swept and dried.

"No, it ain't gonna ruin our dinner." Angel reached up to the cupboard and pulled another jar out just as Jack walked back into the room with a lit cigarette in his hand. He reached for the empty beer bottle he'd deposited on the counter and headed for the table.

Jerry was leaning against the counter by that time. He looked at Jack's cigarette and shook his head. "Should've known you had some stashed somewhere." He grunted.

"Yeah, I had them in my spare pair of shoes." Jack shot Bobby a look that told him he was well aware of his shoes having been nabbed. Tear tracks traced the length of his cheeks.

Bobby nodded his head. "You ready to talk yet fairy?" He asked.

Jack drew in a shaky breath. "You gonna keep your mouth shut until I'm done?" He asked while he pulled himself into the chair he had abandoned minutes before.

Bobby managed to snap a fake grin on his face. "Hell, when have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut?" He couldn't keep the tension out of his voice, he could feel it and hear it in his words and he could have kicked himself in the ass for it. He didn't want Jack to clam up on him. He knew the kid had been through shit when he was younger, and he'd found some shit to get into after Evelyn had brought him home, but he'd been sure he knew about all of it. Now he was wondering what else there was that he hadn't known. What had happened that had Jack this upset?

Jack sat back in his chair and flicked his cigarette ashes into the beer bottle.

"What the fuck you doin' smokin' that in here? I'm cooking." Angel shot Jack a warning glare. "Hidin' smokes and then bitchin' cause I didn't buy you any. That's shitty." He grumbled as he readied a pot of water for the stove.

Jack stood and walked over to the window, opening it and then leaning against the wall. He purposely blew his next draw out the window. "Happy?" His voice came out a little harder than normal.

"Okay, what the fuck you need to tell us Jackie?" Bobby turned his chair so he could look at his brother.

Jack looked at Bobby and sighed. "I knew him, but I never knew his name." He spoke quietly. "I met up with him when I was getting into the hard shit. That's one face I could never forget, and I'm telling you right now, if he's alive, he's gonna come back. He don't like taking no for an answer, and if his sick mind is set on getting a hold of Craig, he will try again."

"You dealt with this bastard?" Jerry asked.

"Not much, but yeah I did." Jack looked as if he were holding back. Bobby could see it.

"What else is there Jack?" Bobby pushed. "We already know the shit you got into for a while, hell, we were the ones that pulled you out of it, remember?" He leaned forward in his chair. "I remember it real well, tracking you down at two in the fucking morning and dragging your ass home because your Ma was sitting here worried. That's in the past, and if this fucker was a part of any of that I need to know the details, now."

"I don't want Craig to know." Jack kept his voice quiet. "Hell, as far as he knows I ain't ever done the other shit, and I don't want him to know. I don't want him to think it's an option. We all know I screwed up, but I don't want him to know." He sounded as if he were begging at that moment.

Bobby could understand Jack's reasoning; he didn't want Craig to know either. He leaned to his left to look into the dining room. The kid was sleeping soundly, despite the voices in the kitchen.

"I sure as hell don't want him to know that I dealt with the same son of a bitch that…" Jack swallowed hard and kept his eyes leveled on Bobby for a long moment, and when he spoke, he seemed he could barely get the words out. "I used to buy my shit from him." He pointed to the sketch that was sitting on the table."

"And what else? The look on your face don't come from that rocky road you traveled with the drugs, man." Jerry spoke quietly from his position at the counter.

Jack looked at Jerry and then shifted his gaze to Bobby. "I owed him some money." He muttered. "He decided I could pay him off in other ways than money. I didn't want to, and I always found the money to pay, but that last time he wouldn't take no for an answer, I had the money, but he insisted." His voice became very quiet. "That was the night I came home so messed up. It was the night I asked you for help, the night I admitted everything to Mom."

Bobby remembered the night Jack was talking about. That night had been the end of a long struggle for them all. The kid had barely turned seventeen when he'd started into a downward spiral for a few months. His earlier experiences at the hands of foster parents had been shared with his brothers, but they couldn't keep those memories from haunting him. Despite the fact that his mother and brothers fought like hell to keep him above water and to keep him from drowning in those memories, he'd hidden much of his emotional torment from them as he got older and it had turned him inside out.

He started out with the usual drugs that could be found in any hall of any high school in the city, and he'd been busted a few times by his brothers and they had come down hard on him, but it wasn't as if they could guard him twenty four hours a day, seven days a week and he would just go back out to find something stronger so that he could numb his brain. He moved into some harder shit, and he'd become more self destructive, taking chances that could get him killed. He drove too fast, got into fights with the wrong people, and even did some dealing when he needed money. His grades in school started to drop drastically, and it all happened at once, with no warning. He started selling more than drugs when he was desperate to escape.

It never made sense to Bobby, how turning around and doing the one thing that gave you nightmares could do a person any kind of good, but that's exactly what Jack had been falling into. Hell, it didn't help shit, it only made it worse. Years had passed since Jack had been assaulted by that fucker Nate, and there he was selling himself to get money for drugs to get rid of the nightmares that experience had left him.

Bobby, Jerry and Angel had done what they could, finding out names of dealers that sold to him and strong arming them into refusing to sell to him. They caught a few of them on the streets and beat the shit out of them. A few of the small time dealers ended up jail because of the anonymous tips they'd call into the cops. Not that they stayed there long, they always seemed to be back on the street with a couple of days. Every time they got a dealer to turn Jack away, the kid would just find another one, who was willing to sell him harder drugs, more harmful chemicals to fry his brain. He had even stopped playing his guitar much for a while. He just hadn't been their Jackie.

The turning point had been the night Jack came home busted up and bleeding. Some sick fucker had pulled a knife on him and messed him up bad, took his drugs, and took something else from him. Jack hadn't let him have it willingly. It had been taken from him that night just as it had been taken from him when he was small; the ass hole had beat on him good, holding a knife to him the whole time. As horrible as it had been, it seemed to be the one thing that jerked Jack back into the world of the living. It was as if it gave him a reason to get his head straight, and deal with the shit in there instead of hiding from it.

Bobby could feel his blood boiling as the memories surged through his brain. Once he'd been sure Jack wasn't going to need a doctor, and that Evelyn had everything under control, he'd gone out looking for the sick fucker who had touched his brother, planning on killing him. The only problem was Jack wasn't able to give him a name, and no one he questioned about the stranger seemed to know who he was. He hadn't been seen around before, at least not by the kids Jack hung out with. Bobby had questioned every one he could think of and came up with nothing. Angel had asked around as well, but still nothing. Now it made sense. It would have been around the time Macks had gotten out of prison, probably, and it had marked Jack's hitting rock bottom.

Bobby had moved away not long after that, so had Angel, but they both kept close tabs on Jack, though his brother didn't know it. If he'd gotten involved with any of that shit again Bobby would have found out and been back to knock some sense into his head, but Jack did good after that. He did damn good in fact. Evelyn had made him see a psychologist, and he'd made some progress. His grades got back to where they had been. He graduated from school, and he'd moved to New York, to follow his dreams for fame and fortune.

Some how through all of it, they had managed to keep Craig from knowing what was going on with Jack. Jack hadn't wanted him to know then, and neither had Evelyn. In fact, Evelyn had threatened them all, something that was rare for her, if the kid found out about Jack's struggle. Bobby definitely understood Jack not wanting him to know now.

All four were quiet for a long time. Angel got the pasta in the water and watched it for a moment before turning to Jack. "So, we already knew all that shit. What we didn't know was your sick fucker was the same sick fucker who's after Craig." He spoke quietly. "Get over it Jackie Poo, nothing new here, except for having another reason to kill the fucker. He ain't touchin' another kid, ever again." He walked across the kitchen to where Jack was still leaning on the window. He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and gave it a careful pat. "We love ya man, don't forget it." He pulled Jack into a quick hug and afterwards he reached up and wiped what appeared to be a tear off of his right cheek.

Jack sniffed at some tears himself as Jerry moved in for a hug. "You need to put that thing out, man, it's choking me up." He pointed to the cigarette as his voice croaked out the words, obviously trying to hold in tears himself.

Jack shook his head and snorted out a short laugh while he dropped the remains of the cigarette into the bottle and set it down on the window sill.

Bobby stood and walked over to Jack once Jerry had moved out of the way. He looked up at his kid brother and shook his head. "You little fairy, you think we don't know?" He asked.

Jack looked confused and was about to voice that confusion.

"You think we don't know that it's still shitty for you sometimes?" Bobby spoke quietly. "Hell, we're your brothers, if you need to talk, you talk. We know when to be fucking serious, you should know that. Don't worry Jack, we're gonna find this shit hole, and we're gonna get him for Craig, and for you." Bobby slid his arm up and pulled the taller Mercer down enough that he could give him a quick hug. "Don't ever be ashamed of your past Jack." He whispered it into his brother's ear. "You grew from that, you dealt with it, and that's a good thing."He repeated the words that Evelyn Mercer had been so good at saying over and over to all of her sons.

Jack gave Bobby a small smile and nodded his head. "Thanks man, I know." He reached up and wiped the tear off of Bobby's cheek before the man turned away. "Don't be crying Bobby, someone might call you a little girl." He managed to laugh.

"Name one person in this fucking room with the balls enough to call me a little girl." Bobby turned and motioned at Angel and Jerry. "You think they would? Hell no, I'm the big brother, and don't any of you forget it."

The mood felt a little lighter, but Bobby was holding in the rage that he'd let build up. Macks was going to be sorry he messed with the Mercers, any of them, at any time. He was going to tear that man apart limb by limb. He gave Jack a push towards the table and reached out to shut the window. He took a long look at the street to be sure there was no one hanging around before pushing the window down. He reached out and locked it before returning to his chair. He looked at Jack, who was again staring at the sketch laid out before him. "You think he's gonna need a doctor?" He asked, remembering that Jack had seen one after he'd had his own encounter with this sick bitch.

Jack looked at Bobby, "If he was half the monster with him that he was with me, then hell yeah." He let out a shaky breath, stood, and got another beer out of the refrigerator.

Bobby's air caught in his throat as he wondered if there was anything else Jack hadn't told him. He still felt as if there was something being left out, a missing piece of the puzzle, but he couldn't quiet figure it out. Jack knew he could trust his brothers, right? He knew that no matter what, he was still their little brother, and they woud do all they could to protect him, and keep him safe. He was no different than Craig. He was his little brother and he was damn sure gonna make Macks pay dearly for putting his hands on either of his brothers.

* * *

Jeff Jones opened the door of the motel room for Donna and allowed her to walk in ahead of him. He hadn't made the bed that day, and there were some clothes lying on the floor, but he didn't care, and apparently she didn't care either. He started pulling off her clothes the instant the door was closed and she didn't seem to mind that either. Within minutes they were in the bed, both of them stripped down. It felt good, and he let his urges take control of his actions.

His mind drifted back to a time when it was Lydia staring at him with those eyes, and it was Lydia touching him and sending the sensations through his body that he couldn't resist. In the dark it was easy to pretend. In the dark it was easy to forget that he had killed her, or that he'd lost his son. In the dark it was easy to let his already unstable mind believe that the body in his arms was Lydia's, and that she could release the demons inside of him, just as she had done years before.

In the dark, it was easy for Adam Macks to join Jeff Jones in the fantasy and soak in the comfort of his Lydia holding him once more. It was her lips touching his and her hand caressing the muscles in his back, her nails digging in with just the right pressure as he fell into her wetness and swam in the heat of it. The sweat that mixed between them seemed to go on forever, and the sweet smell of her perfume blended with it and he was at last able to unleash his desires.

His mind raced as his body needed more, harder, and rougher. She cried out once, and he felt his hand strike hard. She cried out again, and he repeated the action. "Keep quiet. No sound. You'll ruin it." He groaned out the words in short gasps. He didn't want to hear her voice; he wanted to hear Lydia's moans and sighs that were ringing in his own mind.

She pushed against him, and hit at him. He was hurting her, he knew he was, but he didn't care. Screw the feelings he'd been struggling with in the bar. This was him, this was Adam Macks, or Jeff Jones, whatever name he was called, this was still him, and he liked it this way. He was going to have it this way until he was finished.

She cried out again and his anger was sparked. He didn't slap her; he felt his hand grip her throat and he growled the words out as he moved into her harder. "I said shut the fuck up." He felt his fingers squeezing, and he felt her body thrashing. He pushed in harder around her throat, pressing his thumb into the windpipe. "Shut up, shut up, shut up." He kept moving, and was satisfied after an unknown amount of time with her compliance, when her body stopped struggling against him. He was lost in his own mind, his own memories with no concept of time or where he was. He fell against her when he was done, and rolled over onto the mattress, exhausted. He passed out feeling satisfied and complete. He'd had his Lydia once more, and he felt whole again. She was lying next to him, quiet and still, not moving.


	19. Chapter 19

Kat1132, you are absolutely right! Need to lighten it up a little :)

Come on people, let me know what you think! Reviews make me happy! Thanks for reading, and hope you like.

Still don't own, still make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 19: Nonsense**

Bobby pulled the sketch of Adam Macks across the table to look at it closer. He studied it while Angel cooked and Jerry got on his cell phone to call Green. Jack sat quietly in his chair and watched Bobby study the picture. "You thinking you can get a mental fix on him if you look at that long enough?" He finally spoke.

Bobby didn't look up. He shook his head slowly. "No." He muttered, only half absorbing that he'd been asked a stupid question and had actually answered it.

"Because if that works, then I'll draw a picture of my shoes on that paper and try to locate them the same way. You know, maybe I'll get a good vibe off the page and figure out where the hell they're at." Jack's voice sounded tense.

Bobby finally looked up at Jack's irritated stare. He smiled thinly. "Kept you in the fucking house, now didn't it?"

"Not really, it wasn't like I was planning on going anywhere." Jack leaned forward. "Where in the hell are my shoes Bobby?" He kept his voice even.

Bobby sat back in his chair while he closed up the sketch pad and got the face of Adam Macks out of his range of sight. He didn't want to look at the bitch, not right then. He needed to concentrate on how he was gonna find him, not stare at his picture and imagine all the ways he was going to kill him. "Don't worry about it Jack, I'll give your shoes back when I think I can trust you." He forced a grin at his younger brother, not bothering to add that he wasn't going to trust him to stay put at home until he was sure his injuries were fully healed.

"Fuck you Bobby, I'm not five years old, where are my shoes?" Jack was clearly getting irritated.

Bobby kept his gaze fixed even on Jack. "I'll tell you what, I'll give you your shoes back, and I'll give Angel's his too, if both of you agree to one thing." He spoke as seriously as he could.

"What?" Angel asked from the stove, where he was putting their dinner in the oven. He didn't sound as if he really wanted to hear Bobby's offer.

"After we all eat, we go down to the rink and do a little skating." Bobby smiled.

"What?" Angel let the oven door slam shut, sounding irritated.

"Damn it Angel, watch it, you're gonna wake him up and I want him to sleep until it's time to eat." Bobby spoke quickly.

"I ain't goin' to no rink to play no fucking hockey Bobby." Angel shook his head.

Bobby spread his wide grin, "I don't recall asking you to play hockey ya' jar head."

Angle's eyes narrowed as he moved to the freezer to pull out a loaf of garlic bread. "Then what the fuck you want to go to the rink for?" Angel looked skeptical. "There's only one reason you get on the ice and that's to bust heads." He got the tub of butter out of the refrigerator and started preparing the bread on a cookie sheet, smearing the butter across it.

Bobby pondered on Angel's analysis of him for a brief moment. Hell, he was right, that was usually the reason he wanted to get on the ice, to get a game going and have a legal reason to knock some teeth out of someone's mouth. He forced his thoughts back to his real reason for wanting to go to the rink now. "I think it's time Craig learns how to do some hard hitting." His brain was working now; it was just what he needed himself, and what both of his kid brothers needed.

Jack knew how to fight, but he needed reminded at that moment. Not that he needed to do any rough stuff, but it would be good for him to get out and move around, remember what the hell it felt like to hit someone when your brain was on overdrive remembering bad shit. Jack was still dwelling on it, no matter how hard he was trying to hide it, Bobby could tell.

Craig, well hell, he didn't know shit about fighting. None of his brothers had ever taught him, Evelyn didn't want it, didn't think it would be good for him to be exposed to it. Bobby could see what his mother had been thinking way back when, but now he couldn't help but think it had been a mistake; he should have been giving the boy boxing lessons from the start. Macks damn sure wouldn't have had such an easy time terrorizing the kid if he'd know some moves to defend himself. He needed to learn, cause the next time someone tried to mess with him, he wanted that boy to crack their balls wide open and have them sounding like Mickey Mouse talking through helium. He was gonna make sure Craig learned how to fight back. It would be empowering to him, give him a sense of control over what happened to him.

"I ain't well enough to go playin' around on the ice." Jack countered.

"You felt good enough to go out with your big brother last night and take a shower in paint." Bobby laughed. "Come on, we need to teach Craig how to hit. I don't mean just playing hockey. He needs to learn to defend himself." He liked the idea more every second. "It'll make him feel a damn sight better, I think. I mean I remember when I first learned how to crunch some balls, and man I felt like the king of the world." He shook his head. "I don't want you runnin' off without us all being together Jack, that's what I was more worried about." He admitted. "We don't know where the hell that ass hole is right now. For all we know he followed you both last night." He looked at Jack pointedly, as if he was hoping his brother got the message.

Jack stared at him for a long moment and then nodded his head, apparently understanding. "But I want my fucking shoes." He spoke out forcefully.

Jerry had been standing near the doorway to the foyer; he turned and looked at all three men. "Would ya' all shut the fuck up? I've gotta leave Green a message." He spoke up.

Bobby looked at Jerry. "Can't get a hold of that dick, huh? Hell, don't surprise me at all. We can't seem to get shit from him for days and now he won't even answer his fucking phone. Maybe we should just forget him and go about our business our way, without worrying about Green." He let out a heavy sigh, his lightening mood weighed down again by the thought of the cop who he'd trusted to help them now letting them down. It shouldn't have surprised him. Besides, with what his brain was churning around at that moment, he figured it was best if Green didn't have much to do with their plans from here on out. He was sure some of the shit he was thinking about wouldn't go over well with the police officer that loomed under Green's coat.

"Green, its Jerry, do me a favor and give me a call, man, we need to talk." Jerry ignored Bobby's words as he hung up the phone. He turned and looked at Bobby. "He's doin' the best he can Bobby. He's dealin' with the FBI, remember?" He stepped past Angel and opened the oven door to take a look inside. "Damn, that smells good. How long 'till it's done?" He turned and looked up at Angel just in time to get a finger full of butter smeared across the side of his face.

"Close the oven door and leave it. It ain't never gonna be done if you keep letting all the hot air out of the oven." Angel spoke critically, picking up a dish wrag and cleaning the butter off his finger.

Bobby laughed hard at the yellow substance sliding down the side of Jerry's face. It seemed to pick up speed, and his brother reached out and grabbed for it just as it hit the end of his chin and was about to fall.

Jerry stood up straight, letting the oven door close, careful not to let it bang shut hard. He walked over to the sink and dropped the quickly melting butter. He turned on the water and reached for the drawer that held the dish towels. He avoided looking at Angel, who was laughing quietly. He grabbed the towel and was about to put one end of it under the water when another mass of yellow struck him square center, across the bridge of his nose. His eyes clamped shut, and his mouth twitched at the corners, not moving into a smile, but more of a snarl. "Angel, don't do that no more, man, I ain't gonna take it again." He reached up with his hand and grabbed the butter. "Look at you, waistin' good butter on games, that's enough man." He turned back to the sink and started to clean the butter off of his face.

Angel dipped his fingers into the tub of butter again, and watched as Jerry carefully cleaned the first two trails of grease from his face. Jack laughed quietly while watching his brother take aim, and Bobby decided to take sides. "Watch it Jerr' he's on the attack!" He called out, but it was too late.

Jerry froze when the butter splattered across his right ear, obviously moving with enough force that a good amount of it traveled into the ear. "That's it, I've had enough." Jerry's hand went straight for the splatter and wiped it off quickly, while his other hand dowsed the towel with as much water as it could hold before flinging it across the room to smack Angel in the face.

Jack couldn't keep his laughter quiet at that point, and Bobby had to point and nod his head while he chuckled at the sight of two grown men throwing butter and wet towels across the kitchen. He couldn't help but think about how proud their mother would have been at that moment, to see two of her brightest sons splattering each other with food and water.

"Get him Jerr'!" Bobby called out as Jerry made a move across the floor, one hand outstretched for the butter bowl, the other reaching for Angel. It all seemed to play out in slow motion as Angel threw one arm up to grab the towel from his face just as Jerry managed to grab a handful of the butter. The towel came down, Jerry's hand smacked Angel's cheek depositing the butter, rubbing it hard across the front of his face and then upward, moving it across the top of the paint stained head. Angel reached for Jerry's well buttered hand and used his other hand to reach for the closest thing to him, the red plastic canister set that rested against the back wall of the counter. His hand flipped the lid off the first canister and dumped the contents over the top of Jerry's head.

The cloud of white flour that filled the room seemed to coat everything in it instantly, the counters, the floor, the table and the other two brothers sitting at the table. Jack moved quickly, grabbing the honey jar off the table, twisting the lid off while Jerry and Angel were busy struggling with each other. He was on his feet and sliding across the floor that had been slicked down with butter, water and flour. He nearly collided with both men, but he had the honey pouring none the less. Bobby laughed so hard at the sight he nearly had to double over in his chair. He wasn't about to join in. He was a little smarter than the average Mercer. If he joined in he would have to help clean up, and there was no way he was going to get the job of cleaning up all that fucking flour coating every nook and cranny of the kitchen.

Movement in the doorway caught his attention and his head snapped instantly to the fourteen year old standing there, watching the exhibition his brothers were putting on. The boy's mouth hung open slightly, and the look on his face seemed to emanate caution. The kid wasn't sure if he wanted to enter the room or not. Bobby reached his hand out to him and motioned for him to come over.

Craig looked at Bobby and shook his head. "Are they okay?" He asked quietly, his voice barely heard over the men's laughing and the shouts that were now filling the room.

Bobby laughed. "Hell no, they're Mercers, now get your ass over here." He stood enough to reach Craig, grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the table. He pushed him down into the chair next to him and pointed towards the fools on the other side of the room. "Get 'em both Jerr', come on, you're the older brother, show 'em how tough you are!" He called out.

Craig flinched when the dish drainer fell off the counter, and Bobby noticed it. He reached out, grabbed the back of the chair Craig was sitting in and slid it over next to him. "Relax kid, they're playing." He dropped an arm across Craig's shoulders and the two of them watched as Jerry and Angel both ganged up on Jack, butter, wet towel and the sugar canister flying around in the tangle of arms and puffs of flour being worked up.

A small laugh escaped Craig, and Bobby could feel him relaxing under his arm. Bobby watched for a second more as Jerry lost his footing and grabbed for the counter to keep from falling. He leaned over towards Craig. "You want to get all of them?" He spoke just loud enough for Craig to hear his words.

Craig looked at Bobby, a mixture of different emotions stirring behind his eyes. He wanted to get his brothers, Bobby could tell, but it was as if there was fear behind that desire holding him back. "You go get the spray hose from the sink and nail all three." Bobby gave him a sly look before giving him a slight push to encourage him to get out of the chair.

Craig looked at Bobby for a long moment, hesitation showed in his eyes. "I don't want to have to clean up the mess." He shook his head.

Bobby laughed, but he couldn't help but think that Craig might be one Mercer almost as smart as he was, with his way of thinking. "You wont have to. I grant you official Mercer immunity to any clean up that has to be done here. Now go get 'em." He nodded towards the three men slipping on the tile floor, their feet losing balance, and falling one at a time, but still grabbing handfuls of flour and sugar off the floor and counter to toss at each other.

Craig let a small smile creep across his face, and Bobby couldn't help but think this was just what he needed. He needed to laugh a little bit, just like the rest of them. He needed to know that no matter how bad shit got, they could still do this and get past it. He watched as Craig moved to the sink, grabbed the spray nozzle and had it aimed at his other three brothers quicker than he'd though possible. The kid seemed to be taking the sight in as completely as he could; Jack sitting on his ass on the floor, laughing too hard to do much fighting back by now, Jerry on his hands and knees, trying his damnedest to get back up, but slipping and sliding in the pasty mix that had formed under him, and Angel, appearing to be the one to claim victory over them, still on his feet, but barely, gripping onto the counter with one hand and trying to wring water out of the towel with his other hand, aiming for the tops of Jerry and Jack's heads.

"Angel's your target, get him good!" Bobby yelled the words out, unable to hold them in.

Craig let loose with the water, hitting Angle in the face with the icy spray. Angel screamed out and reached for Craig, but the movement was too jerky and he ended up falling over Jerry. Craig adjusted his aim to include all three men, and was actually laughing. Bobby's heart seemed to swell, and he was damn glad the kid had been drawn out of his sleep for this.

Jack was closest to Craig. He reached out and grabbed the boy around the legs, pulling him down, but was careful of how he maneuvered him down to the floor and out of reach of the nozzle he'd been using as a weapon.

"You think that's funny?" Jack laughed hard. "Payback's a bitch kid." He reached for the spray hose, which Craig had lost his hold on and left hanging off the sink. Jack's long arm was able to reach the nozzle and he sent the spray into Craig, and then moved it to Jerry and Angel.

Craig tried to wriggle out of Jack's one arm hold, and was almost successful until Jerry reached for him, his hands going around his stomach and tickling at the teen which resulted in the best sound Bobby had heard yet. The kid let out a belly aching laugh that couldn't be suppressed or quieted. Angel joined Jerry's efforts, until Jack, who waited a few minutes to let the kid have the laughing fit, finally turned protective, pulling Craig out of their reach and letting him slide across the mess on the floor to relative safety. All four seemed to stop at their struggles at the same time.

Jerry, Angel and Jack all three turned their gazes on Craig. Jerry was the first to speak to him. "Damn, and I thought you and me was tight. Here you are bustin' me down." He laughed.

"Sorry," Craig spoke the word quietly, but he was still smiling and partially laughing, though his breathing was a little hard from the tickling that had been unleashed on him.

Bobby stood and moved carefully across the floor. "Damn, you guys made one hell of a mess in here." He shook his head and reached down to haul Craig to his feet. "You three had better get this mess cleaned up." He pulled the boy back from the sight on the floor. The three men were covered in what could only be described as paste, thick and massed in their hair and on their faces, but on the floor it seemed to be thin and runny, all watered down. Their eyes were on him, turning threatening with each word he spoke.

He grabbed the nozzle that had been abandoned and slid it into its proper place. "Look at what you did here. You got Craig all dirty and soaked. I'm gonna take him up and get him cleaned off and into some dry clothes. When I get back this kitchen needs to be looking a damn sight better than this. I mean really, I can understand this kind of behavior coming from Craig, he's supposed to be immature and irresponsible, but you are three grown men. Jerry, you got a wife and two kids. What the hell is wrong with you? What would Camille say if she seen this?" He tried to sound as serious and irritated as he could, and he fought hard against the urge to spray all three of them with the water, but he didn't want to ruin the moment by getting himself caught in the mess surrounding them.

Bobby took the long way around to the stairs, pulling Craig into the dining room, through the living room and into the foyer. He stopped in the foyer and looked through the other doorway into the kitchen. Jerry was trying to stand, Angel was crawling through the muck to find a safe patch of floor and Jack was sitting back against the cupboards wiping the nasty looking combination from his eyes.

Craig's gaze mirrored Bobby's for a moment, and then he looked up at the man. "Why did they do that?" He asked quietly, a look of being lost spread over his face.

"What? Why did they have fun?" Bobby looked down at the boy. "Craig, sometimes nasty shit happens, and it's hard to deal with. Nonsense like that just makes it easier to go on. You're gonna be fine, we're all gonna be fine. You remember that, okay?" He leaned down slightly to be sure Craig could see his face in the dimming light that was coming through the door window. He wanted the kid to know he was being completely serious, no bullshitting.

Craig nodded his head and let out a long breath. Bobby could see that the strength he'd sensed in the kid weeks earlier was starting to come through a little, and he smiled at him. "Come on; let's go get you cleaned up." He motioned to the boy's wet and plastered clothes. "We need to stall long enough that they get that mess cleaned up before we come back down." He let himself laugh quietly.

"Damn it Jack, let go of me!" Angel cried out and a second later a loud thud filled the house.

Bobby glanced back into the kitchen to see Angel lying on his back, trying to pull his self free of the mixture that seemed to be spreading across the kitchen floor. Jack on the other hand was now standing over Angel, looking quite pleased.

"Thanks for the assistance." Jack looked down at Angel and grinned.

Bobby laughed loud enough to draw Angel's glare his way and pulled Craig on up the stairs quickly, somehow thinking his brother might actually shoot death rays out of his eyes and in his direction.


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks to all for the reviews :) Keep them coming, I love knowing what you think!

Don't own, make no money.

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**Chapter 20: New Storm Brewing**

Jeff Jones woke the next morning to a dull aching behind his eyes. It wasn't as bad as the morning before, but it was bad enough that he thanked God the curtains were closed to keep out the light. His night had been more fulfilling than he'd expected. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Adam Macks laughing and he didn't like the sound of it. He turned his head to look at Donna lying next to him, the blankets bunched up around her, hiding her face.

He grimaced at the thought of dealing with her for a second morning in a row, but he had to admit there had been something about her that had seemed to have quenched the thirst that had been building inside of him for a while now. Somehow he thought he could actually start feeling something real for her. If things were different, if he didn't have to go back to Detroit and straighten out things there, he could probably take her away from the unhappy life there and they could both find something they needed in each other. He found himself wanting to thank her, and wanting to ask her if she was as satisfied with him as he was with her. Was she happy with what they'd done through the night? He wasn't sure, but it seemed improtant that she was happy with him.

His body felt relaxed and satisfied, though he felt sore from so much activity in such a short span of time. The tension was gone though, and he knew now he would be able to sit back and plan out his next move concerning the Mercers and the kid, without so much to distract him. Again he could hear Macks in the back of his mind, laughing mockingly at him. Macks didn't like the fact that he was able to get his hands on a woman and actually enjoy her. He wanted the kid, wanted to wrap his hands around his throat and choke off the air. He knew that, in fact he could almost feel flesh under his hands, feel himself squeezing at it hard. He really didn't give a shit, Macks could do whatever the hell he wanted, so long as he let him have what he needed when the time arose, and he'd gotten just what he'd needed with Donna that night.

He reached out towards her and shook her as gently as he could. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he didn't want a repeat of what had happened the day before. He needed to get her out of there before Macks came back around to control shit. Her body felt cold and almost stiff under his touch, and he felt alarm pulse through him. He sat up quickly, maybe too quickly for his aching head, but the pain was soon forgotten when he pulled Donna's face towards him.

Her eyes were open, staring blankly at him, no spark to them, so secrets held behind them anymore. Imprints resembling fingers and a hand were visible around her throat, permanently held there by the lack of blood flowing through her veins to wash them away from the inside. "Shit, Macks, what the fuck did you do?" He spoke softly; he felt hot tears forming in his eyes for a brief second before Adam Macks responded in an icy cold voice. "I got rid of the fucking distraction, that's what I did. Don't need to be distracted with a fucking cunt. Now let's get our head out of our ass and start doing some real planning."

Jones stared into the hazel eyes that had once held so much life. They seemed blank now. The emotion that had been behind them was gone, and with that his need to stare at them seemed to vanish. He sighed and looked around the room for a moment, trying to figure out how in the hell he was going to get rid of the heavy body weighing down the other side of his bed.

Jones slowly rose from the mattress and made his way to the restroom. He thought about the emotions he'd been willing to feel. Hell, he should have known better. He was still Adam Macks, deep down, and he knew that, though it was getting harder to keep the two of them together as one. Adam Macks couldn't let himself feel shit; it caused too many complications, besides it was pointless. He closed the door and started the morning routine of clearing Jeff Jones away, and pulling Adam Macks out of the dark. He couldn't let Jeff Jones be seen dragging a fucking body around. Macks killed her; Macks was gonna clean up this mess.

The teeth came out, the elastic band came off allowing the familiar lines and sags of his face to drop into place. The eyes went back to their original color. Macks washed his face quickly in the sink and turned and looked at the corner. He was sure he could see Jones standing there, in the shadow caused by the angle of the morning light hitting the shelf on the wall. The sorry son of a bitch looked sad, as if he'd lost something important to him.

He laughed quietly. "Cheer up Jeff my man. You didn't want her, you wanted Lydia, and that bitch wasn't Lydia. She wasn't anything close to my Lydia. She didn't want to live anyway. She wanted to die. Her heart was broken, remember? She only wanted one thing from you. You were a way to show her husband another man could desire her and want her, hell maybe it was a way to prove it to herself too. That's all it was though. As soon as she had a chance to get her hubby back she would have dropped you like you were poison. That's how they all are, fucking bitches."

He turned his attention to the bathtub. He sighed and walked over to it. "We need to get her clothes off of her and soak her good. We don't want no 'evidence' on her when her body's found, now do we?" He started running the water. "Nope, no evidence," He shook his head and looked back up into the corner of the room. Jones was gone, for the moment at least. That was good. Macks knew how to dispose of bodies. He knew how to clean them; he knew how to remove any biological evidence that might be present after a night of hot, passionate sex. He needed to get this job done, so he could get the hell out of this town. He didn't have as much money as he wanted, but he had enough. He was sure he could get more cash if he really needed to. He had enough to get back to Detroit.

He could get rid of the body and then stop by to see Doctor Chuck about some more pain killers and a gun. He needed a fucking gun now more than ever. He was planning on being on the road by that afternoon. HIs mind was at work. He needed to call Higgins and get shit ready. He had a llife to get back to, and it was time to get back to it.

* * *

Craig showered quickly, and was surprised that Bobby left the room carrying his dirty clothes with him, allowing him the privacy to wash himself. When he was done in the shower he dried off, wrapped the towel around him and stood in front of the mirror to study the stitches that were still on his chest. His mind flashed the picture of his father sitting on top of him, carving into his flesh, telling him he belonged to him, and always would. He shuddered at the memory, but it didn't hold the heavy feeling of doom that it once had. He wondered just how long the feeling of relief would last. He did feel relieved. It felt as if a tight knot inside of him had been unraveled and everything could flow freely, well, almost everything. He remembered the feelings that had overwhelmed him during the doctor's visit, and in the car outside the pharmacy. He could still grab hold of those emotions if he reached down far enough. He could grab hold of them and wrap himself inside of them and it would be so easy to do. He was scared of what was next. He didn't want to fall back into that trap of walling out the world, and keeping himself alone. He didn't want to be alone.

He could also let his brain latch onto the feeling of terror, and giving up that his father had instilled in him and he hadn't been able to drive down. No, not his father, Adam Macks, the man wasn't a father and never had been. He'd donated his DNA, but that did not make him a father. That was the message Jack had been relaying to him earlier, in the living room.

He could let those fears and insecurities creep back in, but his mind was grasping onto something else. The words that Jack had spoken to him in the living room, telling him how a real father would help him get past the shit Adam Macks had forced on him. A real father wouldn't do what Adam Macks had done. The only person Craig could imagine in his mind at that moment was Bobby, a real father, helping him get past Adam Macks. He hadn't been able to stop himself from asking that one question that seemed to hold all the secrets to the way he was feeling at that time. He had known the answer would be pivotal, though he shouldn't have put Bobby on the spot, and he had mentally struggled against letting the words slip past his tongue.

He hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd asked Bobby if he was going to be his father, and when the man had told him he thought he already was, it had taken out the last remnants of the walls he'd been building up to keep himself safe. It was as if the fear of not belonging was wiped clear, and he could see things differently. Now he wasn't seeing it all quiet as clearly, but he wanted to. He wanted to hold onto that feeling of belonging to someone the same way he'd belonged to Evelyn. It gave him some feeling of hope, and he did want to hope, it was something he'd given up while lying under Adam Macks, he'd given it up and hadn't seen any chance of ever feeling normal again. He wanted it back again.

He wasn't surprised when his brother returned with clean clothes shortly after he was finished with the show, and sat on the toilet to wait for him to dress. He hadn't really said that much since they'd gotten upstairs. He didn't feel like talking, not now. He needed to think about all of the things he'd told his brothers. It seemed so much had come out that he couldn't remember it all. Bobby hadn't said much either, except to laugh about the other Mercers in the kitchen cleaning up the catastrophe they had left them to.

Craig wasn't sure why he felt nervous. He felt better than he had before, his chest didn't feel as if it would explode at any minute, but he felt nervous. He was sure Bobby was staring at him and thinking awful things, though if he asked him about it he knew he'd deny it. Bobby kept his head turned while he dressed quickly and he was thankful his brother seemed to know he didn't want to be looked at.

Bobby turned towards him once he was dressed. "You feel better?" He asked him.

Craig nodded his head, thinking his brother was referring to ridding his body of the nasty butter, flour, water, honey and sugar concoction that had been stirred up on the kitchen floor.

"What? I didn't hear that. Nothing in there rattles when you shake it around you know." Bobby spoke calmly.

Craig swallowed hard. "Yeah, I feel better." He muttered.

"You ain't acting much better right now. You were doin' okay before, in the kitchen." Bobby stood and pointed to the toilet. "Sit down." He told him.

Craig didn't understand why they had to have a talk in the restroom, but he did what Bobby told him.

"You spilled a lot of crap out down there earlier. You got more you need to unload?" Bobby sat on the edge of the bathtub.

Craig shrugged his shoulders slightly before catching himself. "I don't know." He kept his voice quiet and stared down at the floor.

"Don't look down there, look at me." Bobby leaned over towards him slightly.

Craig looked at Bobby and waited, wishing his brother would just let it be for now. He felt drained, though he'd had a nap.

"We need to make a deal right now. Well, I'm making the deal; you ain't got no choice in the matter." He smiled and drew in a deep breath. "You don't hold shit in, you talk to me or any of your brothers when something needs to come out, you got that? You are gonna start sitting down with us every day, drawing your pictures for us, and telling what they are and what they mean. Simple enough, right?" He nodded his head.

"But what if I don't feel like drawing?" Craig asked weakly. He could see it now, every day having to go through what he'd gone through earlier, all of the feelings pouring out of him and not being able to control any of it.

Bobby nodded his head slightly, "Well, if that happens, if you seem to find it too hard to draw shit, then we'll just start going through your old books and talking about the pictures in them. I ain't gonna let yourself get buried under all that shit anymore kid. No more hiding from it. Can you handle that? Because if you can't handle talking to us my way, then I can always arrange for a doctor to see you a couple times a week."

Craig felt his stomach freeze up. "No doctors Bobby, please? They never do anything but let me draw anyways, and they look at me like I'm…" His voice caught in his throat.

"Okay, then, we'll try it my way then. My end of deal is this, I won't let you end up messed up by what the son of a bitch did. I won't let it happen. You're gonna get past it. That's my promise." Bobby looked satisfied. "Come on, let's go downstairs and see if those clowns managed to get the mess cleaned up yet." He laughed as he stood. He held his hand out to Craig.

Craig stared at the hand for a moment before taking hold of it and letting Bobby pull him to his feet. He let his mind settle around Bobby's words for a long moment and wondered if his brother could keep that promise.

Jerry was standing at the door when Bobby pulled it open. He was holding clean clothes in his hands and gave Bobby a dirty look. "Took ya' all long enough to get out of there. Did you even consider other people needing to clean this shit off of them?" He pushed his way past both Bobby and Craig and slammed the door hard.

Bobby turned and laughed at the door for a moment before motioning for Craig to walk ahead of him down the stairs. When they reached the kitchen they found the mess had been swept, wiped, scrubbed and mopped. There were still remnants of flour in some discreet places, but Craig was sure it would be cleaned better at a later time, probably by him, since he'd been rescued from the harder task of getting the majority of the goop off of the floor and counters. He felt a little guilty for not having to help, but not much.

Jack was standing over the kitchen sink washing at his arms and face. He had changed clothes and apparently had managed to wash his head in the sink. Somehow it seemed part of the paint that had been coating the spiky stands had been loosened and the color didn't seem so intense now. He turned and looked at Bobby and Craig; a hopeful look crossed his face. "Good, the restroom is free." He started to turn off the water.

"Jerry's got it." Bobby chuckled and turned to the oven to check the spaghetti.

Jack moaned and turned back to the sink to continue scrubbing at the paste mix that seemed to have hardened on his skin in some areas.

"Shut the oven door!" Angel called from the laundry room as soon as the oven's hinges groaned out under Bobby's inspection.

Bobby let the door slam shut and turned in time to see Angel walking into the kitchen. He stepped into view, apparently having washed up in the kitchen sink before Jack. He was buttoning up a clean shirt and had changed into a clean pair of jeans. "You two need to do something useful." He looked at the oldest and youngest Mercer. "Set the table. Don't think we won't get both of ya back. You know it's bad enough that you start shit Bobby, but to drag Craig into it and then let him get out of the whole clean up bit, now that's just doin' wrong by all of us."

Bobby grinned. "Hell, he didn't start shit. He just joined in after you all had the kitchen in shambles already. I take offense by the way to being accused of starting anything. I didn't start flinging butter around the kitchen. Craig got you good Angel, admit it." He stepped past Angel to the cupboard and started pulling out dishes.

Angel raised his eyebrows. "Yeah and why did he join in? Because you gave him that little nudge. Don't think you're both getting out of it so easy; like Jackie said before, payback's a bitch." He grinned and looked from Bobby to Craig. "And revenge is sweet." He turned and walked to the refrigerator to pull out a bag of salad mix.

Bobby handed Craig the plates and no one said much more while the table was set. Dinner was on the table when Jerry walked into the dining room wearing what appeared to be a pair of Bobby's blue jeans, with the holes in the knees, and one of Jack's black t-shirts with the name of a rock band spread out across the front and lightening bolts down the back. He looked as if he were swimming in the shirt, while the jeans seemed about two inches too short. Craig tried not to laugh while he poured milk into his glass. His brothers opted for beer with their meal.

Once they had all gathered around the table they reached for each other's hands and Bobby said the grace. Craig sat in the seat next to Bobby without thinking twice about it. He was used to sitting there now, instead of in the chair that Angel was occupying. He could barely remember sitting at the other end of the table, close to his mother when she'd been alive. It almost felt as if he'd been with his brothers forever, and still it seemed like such a short time.

The men were quiet as the food was dished out. Bobby put salad on one side of Craig's plate and then spaghetti on the other side. "You eat every bit of it." He spoke casually as he dropped a piece of the garlic bread on the plate.

Craig picked up the bread and looked at the coating of flour that seemed to have baked into the butter. He made a face and looked at Bobby. "You're kidding, right?" He gave the bread a slight wiggle in his fingers.

Bobby looked at the bread, and seemed to notice the flour for the first time. "Angel, this is shit." He took the bread from the boy and looked at Angel.

"It's fine. I tried it myself when I cut it." Angel reached across the table and snatched the bread out of Bobby's hand. "I'll prove it to you." He took a large bite of the bread and started chewing. "I think I'll start making it like this from now on." He smiled once his food was swallowed.

Craig watched Angel eat the bread and looked over at Jack who was digging into his salad. Jerry was starting in on his spaghetti. He looked at Bobby, who had no problem poking the greens and scooping some of the spaghetti up with it. He picked up his own fork and looked down at his plate.

He wasn't hungry. He knew he should be, and he wanted to eat, but the idea of putting food in his mouth made his stomach churn. He didn't want to ruin the good mood that had filled the house by pissing Bobby off about the food issue. He poked at the salad with his fork and stirred it around on his plate a little. He looked up at Bobby who didn't seem to be paying much attention to him right then, and then back to his food. He could hear his brothers' forks hitting the plates and the sounds of their chewing. He hadn't felt this way when he sat down, he'd been hungry and wanted to eat, the food smelled good, it looked good.

His mind was drifting back to when he was little and his father wouldn't give him food until he'd used his mouth for other things, and the idea of putting food in his mouth after that just wasn't pleasant. It had been an ugly cycle of feeling as if he were starving, and not being allowed to eat until he'd performed his task, and then not being able to get the food down because of the nasty taste in his mouth. The time he'd spent under his father in that bed after the man with the medical bag had drugged him seemed to slip into his thoughts. That was fresh, and still raw, like an open wound.

The memory was shattered when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. He looked up at Bobby who was staring at him, holding onto him firmly, but not hard. He felt the panic that was building start to ease off. "I can't eat." He spoke quietly; sure Bobby wouldn't be happy with it at all.

Bobby stared at him for a long moment. "Try." He spoke quietly. "Come on Craig, just try." He let go of Craig's wrist and kept his gaze on him.

Craig was surprised that Bobby hadn't started with threats and warnings. He gave his brother a slight nod and looked back down to the food. He poked some of the salad and put it to his mouth. He felt himself shiver before taking the bite and chewing on it quickly. He had to force it down, but it went down. He took a drink of his milk before trying more.

With each bite it got a little easier. Bobby started talking about gathering up their skates once the table had been cleared. Craig listened to the men argue about going to the skating rink. Angel tried to tell Bobby it was getting too late. It was going to be dark soon. Jerry said something about his skates being at home. Jack was the only one who didn't argue, in fact he said he was looking forward to it, and told Jerry he still had skates upstairs in the attic.

Craig didn't want to go to the rink. He remembered the feeling that went through him at the thought of other people looking at him. He looked at Bobby after a few more bites. "Why are we going to the rink?" He asked quietly.

"Because we all need to get out of the house and do something fun. The work out would be good for all of us." Bobby looked at him and smiled. "I want to get you out on that ice and show you some moves. Now eat your food so we can get ready."

Craig wanted to argue, he wanted to beg Bobby not to make him go out where other people could see him, and know what he was, and what he'd been made to do, but he didn't say a word. He dropped back into is chair and poked at his food again, stirring it around on his plate and wishing he could think of a way to tell his brother what he was feeling. He had been able to get so much out before, and it had felt good to get rid of it, to be free of it. His brothers had been great, they had helped him, just like a real family would, and he had felt as if he was really going to be okay. Why couldn't he tell Bobby what he was thinking and feeling now? Why couldn't he just come out and say it?


	21. Chapter 21

Let me know what you think and as always, thanks for reading :) Please review??

Legal stuff still counts...

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**Chapter 21: Lessons On The Ice**

Craig managed to force the rest of his food down, though the more he thought about going out of the house, the more difficult it seemed to get. He was still working on his food when Angel and Jack both got up from the table with their plates. They took care of clearing away most of the meal, but as Craig had suspected, it was decided that he could wash dishes while his brothers went up to argue over the shower. Apparently washing in the kitchen sink hadn't helped as much as they had hoped. Jerry cleared his plate next, and then called Camille to let her know where he would be and what he would be doing.

Bobby finished his meal but stayed in his seat and watched as Craig struggled to get the last of his down. He helped clear the rest of the dishes, and helped him out by drying them as Craig washed. He was quiet, and Craig knew that couldn't be a good thing. He was sure he would start asking him questions, wanting to know why he had a problem eating.

Instead, Bobby started talking about getting out on the ice, and showing him some moves. "You need to get the blood pumping. Sitting around all the time can't be good for you." Bobby grinned at him as he put the plates in the cupboard. "It'll be fun, don't you think?" He sounded like he always did when he was talking about skating, and hockey, happier than at any other time.

Craig shrugged his shoulders and muttered a quiet, "I suppose."

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "You wait, it's gonna be fun."

Craig swallowed hard and looked at Bobby. "Are you forgetting the last time you tried to show me anything on the ice?" He asked quietly. He didn't want to be looked at by other people, and he didn't want Bobby getting pissed as him when he fell, or when he missed catching the puck, or didn't hit the puck hard enough.

"We ain't playin' hockey Craig, we'll take the sticks, and we might fool around a little, but this ain't about playing hockey." Bobby grinned. "And yeah, I was pretty hard on you the last time. I'm sorry. That's just how I am. Hockey's a tough game; you gotta be tough to play it. You gotta be aggressive, and you need to learn how to do that. I just can't teach it all to you in one day, I gotta remember that."

"Bobby, I don't like hockey, so why do I have to learn it at all?" Craig asked the question before he could stop himself. He knew that wasn't going to go over well with his brother. It wasn't that he didn't like the game but he didn't play well, and he wasn't like his brothers when he was on the ice. He lost his balance too easy, and he wasn't quick enough.

Bobby nodded his head. "It's about more than hockey Craig. Don't worry; I won't yell at you, I'll save all the yelling for the other three fools, okay?" His grin wasn't spread as far across his face as it had been moments before, and Craig was sure he'd upset him. He was afraid he'd hurt his feelings, but he didn't have a chance to say anything more because Jack and Angel both walked in. They had apparently managed to each grab five minutes in the shower, and they were dressed in several layers of old clothes.

"Bobby, you need some warmer clothes." Angel pointed out as he stepped past them both and opened the refrigerator. "No beer left?" He turned and looked at Jack.

"We can stop and pick some up later." Bobby stared at Craig for a moment before turning to Angel. "Why don't you two finish up the dishes so me and Craig can get ready?"

"Okay, we'll do that." Jack nodded his head. "But you're buyin' the beer."

Craig stood by the door twenty minutes later, layered in clothes so thick he wasn't sure he could move. He felt his stomach trembling inside. He didn't want to go out the door. What if the neighborhood kids were playing outside? What if someone drove by and looked at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was a sign hanging on him announcing to the entire world everything that he'd done while he was with his father.

He wanted to tell Bobby, but at the same time he thought that maybe if he ignored the feelings churning around; if he went with his brothers, and faced what seemed so frightening to him, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd step out the door and he wouldn't have the weight of strangers' stares crushing down on him. He couldn't go crying to Bobby and hiding from the rest of the world forever, could he? He needed to at least try. That's what Bobby had told him about eating; he had to at least try it. He tried to peak out the window of the front door to see if he could see anyone on the street. Bobby was pulling his coat on and had two pair of skates on the floor at his feet. Jerry had already carried hockey sticks and some skates out to his new car. Jack and Angel had finished up in the kitchen and were gathering the last of their things together so that they could all pile into Jerry's car.

Craig moved out of the way enough for both of the men to move past him out the door. They didn't pull it closed after him, and it gave him a better view of the street out front. No one else was in sight. Of course not, anyone with any sense was inside settling down for the evening. He sighed when he looked back over at Bobby. Yeah, anyone with any sense would be protesting to this little adventure out to the rink at six o'clock in the evening, but he was blessed with four brothers who didn't seem to have managed to keep hold of any sense the good Lord or Evelyn Mercer had tried to instill in them.

Bobby picked up the skates and stepped up to the door. "Let's get going. They won't keep the lights on if no one is on the ice." He grinned and motioned for Craig to step out of the house so he could close and lock the door.

Craig started to take that step, but his legs froze and his stomach turned dizzy. He stepped backwards and let his back fall against the wall.

Bobby looked surprised. "Craig? What's wrong?" His voice was quiet and calm.

Craig stared through the front porch windows and he felt a shiver run down his back. "Bobby I can't." He muttered.

Bobby looked confused. "You can't what?" He asked. "You can't go outside?" He looked as if he were about to laugh, that his comment hadn't been serious, but as soon as the words were out he seemed to figure out just how close to the truth he was.

Craig looked at him, and he must have looked as terrified as he felt inside. "I'm sorry. I don't want to go out there." He barely managed to squeeze the words past his throat. "Please don't make me."

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "Oh shit." He closed his eyes for a long moment and then looked at the boy as if he were thinking hard. "What exactly are you afraid of Craig? We're going to be right there with you. No one is gonna lay a hand on you. You got my word on that." He spoke slowly.

Craig shook his head. "I don't want them looking at me." He swallowed hard and tried to pull in a deep breath. "They're going to look at me, and I don't…" He lost the rest of his thought at the sound of a car driving up the street just outside. He turned his eyes to the car and watched it drive past to the corner.

"Craig, no one is going to look at you; no one is going to pay any attention to us at all out there, okay? There won't be too many people there, and your brothers are going to be with you the whole time. You can do this." Bobby remained calm.

Craig had expected something different from his brother, though he wasn't sure exactly what. He figured that at some point Bobby had to turn back into the old Bobby, always yelling at him, and never happy with anything he did. "I can't do this yet." He felt tears trying to seep out, and held them in. He didn't want to cry, he didn't want to fall back into that pit that he'd existed in since Christmas. He could feel his insides trying to tie themselves back up into knots, and he didn't want that.

"Craig, you can't hide in this house. You can't do that. You wouldn't be happy doing that. I wouldn't be happy with you doing that. Now you can at least try, can't you? What do you think is going to happen?" Bobby reached out with his hand and let it rest on Craig's left shoulder.

"I don't know. What if they can look at me and see what I did." He looked down at the floor, away from his brother's eyes. He couldn't stand to look at them at that very moment. He felt ashamed, and he couldn't explain why.

"What you did?" Bobby sounded irritated now. "Craig, you didn't do anything. You had something done to you. You did nothing wrong, you know that. What is it; you think there's a big tattoo on your forehead that says victim?" He gave the boy's shoulder a slight squeeze. "No one can look at you and see what's happened to you, it's not written on you anywhere. You were a victim. You're not one now; you're just a fourteen year old kid who is going to the skating rink to have a little fun. You're allowed to have fun, you know."

Craig slowly raised his gaze to meet Bobby's. He was allowed to have fun. He thought about the words. He wasn't a piece of meat for his father to bite into and claw at. He wasn't a life sized toy for his father's sick games. He mentally corrected himself. Adam Macks, not his father. He remembered the feeling that had filled him when Bobby had answered his question earlier that day. Bobby Mercer was his father, not Adam Macks. Bobby was going to teach him how to deal with what had happened. Maybe this had to be part of that.

"Take your time. Take a deep breath and calm down, and when you're ready, we'll go out to the car." Bobby seemed to sense the thoughts that were going through his mind, and it gave him an odd sense of stability.

He nodded his head and drew in a deep breath. "You'll stay with me?" He asked, not sure why he felt he needed that confirmation.

"You damn well better believe it." Bobby kept his voice even and calm.

Craig drew in another deep breath and nodded his head. "Okay." He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment and let Bobby pull him out the door. He felt the cooler air of the front porch, and he grabbed hold of Bobby's arm as his muscles tensed up and tried to resist the movement.

Bobby pulled the front door closed and made sure it was locked before pulling his arm across Craig's shoulders. As they reached the porch door Angel came into view at the bottom of the steps.

"What the hell's taking you? This was your idea." He looked at Bobby as the man let Craig walk down the steps ahead of him.

"We had one last thing to take care of, that's all. We're coming." He pulled his arm back around Craig as they worked their way up the sidewalk to Jerry's car. "You sit up front Angel." He called to Angel who was now walking behind them.

Craig slid into the back seat quickly, thankful to be inside and not feeling so exposed. He felt his hand latch onto Bobby's arm when the man got in and closed the door. He could see Jack looking at him as if he could tell something was up, but he didn't care.

"Is everything okay?" Jack asked quietly, shifting his stare from Craig to Bobby.

Bobby looked over. "Everything is fine. He just felt a little worried about going out, that's all." Bobby pulled his arm from Craig's hold and put it around his shoulders. "Isn't that right?" He asked.

Craig nodded his head. "Yeah, "He agreed, though he wasn't so sure that it was fine now. He hoped Bobby wouldn't want to stay at the rink long.

When they got there, Bobby did just as he promised, and stayed with Craig the whole time. He helped him get his skates on, and let him sit on the bench with him while he put on his own. Jerry was the first one out on the ice, and Jack was close behind him. Angel seemed to be lagging behind to wait for Craig and Bobby.

At first they just skated around a little bit. Bobby kept a hold of Craig's arm to help him along until his balance on the skates seemed to come back to him. He didn't let go until Craig agreed that he was okay. He kept his eyes out around him, but there were only a couple of other guys on the ice, passing a hockey puck back and forth. They left ten minutes after the Mercers had taken to the ice, and they had the whole place to themselves.

Once the ice was all theirs, Bobby asked Angel to bring the sticks and the puck. He stood behind Craig and put a hockey stick into his hands. His arms reached around him and adjusted his hold so that it was correct. "You see, that's not so bad, now is it?" He asked, and Craig was sure he could hear a smile in his voice.

"No." Craig had to admit, it wasn't so bad. He felt much more at ease knowing that no one else was out there.

"Now, start moving straight ahead." Bobby nearly ten minutes with him like that, just skating around, talking about keeping his pace smooth and letting the ice feel natural under his feet. "Your feet will start to like the feeling, trust me."

Jerry, Angel and Jack were hitting a puck back and forth between them, and playing around. They were laughing and calling insults out to each other. Once Bobby seemed to think Craig was ready, he guided him closer to the other three. "Okay, hit one to us." He called out.

They spent a good amount of time hitting the puck around. Bobby started talking about the best way to take a hit so that you didn't fall, and then he started talking about how to hit the opponent.

Craig felt his nerves tighten up when Bobby stopped him from skating and started instructing him on hitting. Elbows were always good, and slamming into a person with your whole body was always a way to get them off balance. Soon Angel was next to them, talking about more than hitting. It soon became apparent that this wasn't all about hockey; in fact the fourteen year old was sure it had nothing to do with hockey. His confirmation came when Angel started showing him how to hold his hand in a proper fist, and how to use the palm of his hand to hit as well, and just as efficiently as his fist; and he told Craig that he had to remember the sensitive parts of the human body if he needed to hit someone and hurt them enough to take them out of commission long enough to put some distance between them.

He felt uncomfortable at first, but he listened, and he paid attention to what was being shown to him. He did what his brothers told him, and after a little while he started to draw an understanding of it in his mind. He felt a little less nervous and he started asking questions. He knew if he'd known how to hit the way Angel was showing him, that he might have been able to fight someone off before, and get away from them. Instead he had frozen up, not knowing what to do. Jack told him quite pointedly that the best place to strike was the crotch, and Bobby quickly picked up on that little bit of information, cracking jokes about the first time he'd kicked the shit out of another man's balls. He seemed proud of it, but it only gave Craig a slight aching in his own private area.

Jerry was the one who started telling him not to be afraid to grab something close by to hit someone with. He used the hockey stick as an example, showing Craig different angles that he could bring the stick into, using it as a weapon. Bobby stood behind him and showed him the difference between a jab and hook when it came to punching. He told him where to aim, and how to stand.

The air grew colder, and it seemed the night around the lit rink grew darker, but Craig wasn't paying that much attention. His feet had found their comfort zone on the ice, just as Bobby had said they would, and he was drinking in the instructions that his brothers, all four of them, were giving to him. Somehow it seemed to give him a sense of calm, just to have some idea of what he could do if anyone tried to touch him, ever again. Bobby stayed right with him, just as he'd promised to, and after what felt like a short time, the man looked at his watch and shook his head. "We need to get the fuck out of here." He called out.

Craig turned and looked at him, "Already?" He asked and he could feel the disappointment in his words.

Bobby looked at him and laughed. "Yeah, dip shit, already. It's getting late."

Craig let out a huff. "Can we come back tomorrow?" He asked the question quietly.

"Are you gonna feel like coming back tomorrow?" Bobby asked.

Craig knew what Bobby was getting at, and he shrugged his shoulders. "I feel like it now." He admitted.

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see what happens tomorrow then." Bobby skated the few feet to him and reached out to put his arm around him. "You're a real tough guy at heart, aren't you?" He spoke teasingly.

"No." Craig laughed a little.

"Sure you are. You're a Mercer, and all Mercers are tough, they each just have different ways of showing it." Bobby started pulling him back towards the bench.

Angel, Jack and Jerry were gathering up the puck and the sticks that had been left lying in different areas and it gave Craig and Bobby a moment alone on the bench. Craig looked at Bobby, who was busy getting his skates off. Before he reached down to untie his own skates he drew in a deep breath. "Bobby?"

Bobby looked at him without saying a word, but seeming to expect a question.

"Thanks." Craig spoke quietly.

Bobby grinned. "You did good Craig, you did real good." He nodded his head and went back to removing his skates.

Craig watched him for a moment more before pulling a foot up onto the bench and starting to change out of his own skates. He felt better. A car sped down the street, and Craig glanced at it for moment. It didn't send that feeling of shame and dread through him to think that the people in the car might look at him. In fact, he felt a little proud. He was with his brothers, and Bobby said he'd done good.


	22. Chapter 22

Thanks for reading, and for the reviews :) Sorry this was delayed, but this time of year hits my job hard, and I may be a couple of days on some of these :(

Let me know what you think, please?

Still don't own, still poor.

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**Chapter 22: Other Problems**

When Craig crawled into bed that night he felt tired. Not just inside, as he'd become accustomed to, but his body felt tired, and relaxed. He barely remembered Bobby lying down next to him after he'd come back into the room from having his shower. He felt his self move towards Bobby, into that familiar place next to him where he seemed to fit just right. Bobby let him rest his head on his chest, and that was all he remembered. He started dreaming soon after his eyes closed, but it wasn't the nightmares he'd been struggling with, it was different. He could remember Evelyn's smile at some point, though the dream was lost once he woke.

He slept through the night, something that hadn't happened for a long time, and he woke to find he was alone in the bed. He felt an energy from somewhere inside of him, and he remembered the feeling. He was well rested and felt like doing something. He sat up in the bed and listened for any sounds coming from the house. He couldn't hear anything. He stood and walked to the open door of the room. "Bobby?" He called, trying to keep his voice quiet for fear of waking someone else up. "Bobby?" He tried again after a few moments of silence.

The restroom door opened and Bobby poked his head out. "You're awake already?" The man looked as if he'd just gotten out of bed himself.

"Can I get up?" Craig asked.

Bobby nodded his head and let a yawn slip out. "Sure, let's go downstairs and get some breakfast." Bobby waved him out of the room.

"Can I turn on my game?" Craig asked.

Bobby looked at him through two small slits. "Give me some time to wake up first." He muttered. "Let's get breakfast out of the way." He turned and started down the stairs. "You know, you're gonna have to start getting your school work done." Another yawn escaped him; though Craig couldn't see it from behind him he could hear it.

"I've got plenty of time for that." Craig didn't want to get stuck with his nose in books all day, and he prayed Bobby wouldn't make him start studying first thing that morning. He followed his brother down the steps. "Can we go out and play some street hockey?" He asked.

"Damn boy, who stuck a firecracker up your ass?" Bobby asked when he reached the bottom of the steps. He turned and looked at Craig, but he was smiling. "We'll see." He motioned for Craig to get into the kitchen. "Keep quiet, let Jack sleep." He warned.

Craig headed straight for the toaster when he got to the kitchen.

Bobby looked at him. "Toast huh?" He watched as Craig took control over his own breakfast. He started a pot of coffee running. "You seem to be full of shits and giggles this morning." He commented.

"I feel good." Craig looked at Bobby while he dropped toast into the slots and then moved to get the jelly out of the refrigerator.

Bobby smiled and nodded his head. "Good. I'm glad. You want to tell me what it is that has you feeling so good?"

Craig shrugged his shoulders. He hadn't really thought about it, and it took him a moment to pinpoint the source of his energy and the feeling of satisfaction that was inside of him. He finally sucked in a deep breath. "I had a good dream." He spoke quietly.

Bobby sighed and walked over to him. "Good." He gave him a quick hug. "I want you to have lots of good dreams." He gave him a gentle pat on the back. "Now get your breakfast and let's sit down." He walked to the back to door to retrieve the paper.

Craig was sitting across from Bobby, munching on his toast when Jack stumbled into the room. Bobby looked up over the top of the morning paper at his brother who was stepping across the tile floor looking as if he hadn't had much sleep at all. His usually mussed up hair seemed to be going in every direction, but is wasn't from any effort on his part this morning, and his eyes looked as if they were nothing more than red orbs hiding behind tiny slits.

"Mornin' Sunshine," Bobby grinned wide. "How was that beer last night?" He spoke of the beer they had stopped to purchase on the way home as Jack had demanded. Craig could remember Jack opening one of the bottles up as soon as they got to the house.

Jack mumbled something incoherent as he moved towards the refrigerator. His long legs seemed to be working against him as he nearly tripped over himself on the clear floor, "Must have missed a spot last night," He mumbled, trying to explain his slight trip.

Bobby laughed. "You need to watch the drinking Jack; you ain't had much of that shit lately." He shook his paper, and Jack winced slightly as he reached for the refrigerator and pulled the door open. "You sleep okay?" Bobby spoke casually as he looked back down at the news.

"Do I look like I slept okay?" Jack's voice came out a little harsh, apparently irritated by Bobby's good mood.

Craig, who had been slightly entertained by the short exchange, suddenly felt a lead weight hit his stomach. He looked up at Jack. No, the man didn't appear to have a decent night's rest. The fourteen year old knew all too good and well how that felt. He'd just had the best sleep in what seemed forever, having been fighting off his nightmares for so long now, and he wished there was something he could do to make Jack feel a little better. "Why don't you go lay back down? I'll bring you something if you want it." He offered.

Jack looked at Craig. "No, I don't want to lie down. I want to stay up, and I want my fucking brain to stop beating against the inside of my skull." He spoke just as harshly to the boy as he had to Bobby.

"Sorry." Craig felt his body slide down the back of the chair as he made an attempt to shrink back from Jack.

Bobby looked back up at Jack who was turning to reach into the refrigerator. "Hey," He didn't sound very happy now. He dropped the news paper onto the table as he stood, and he walked around the table. "You got a problem here?" He took a hold of Jack's arm and pulled him out of the refrigerator. "You and me need to talk." He pointed towards the living room, "Now."

"I need something on my stomach right now." Jack attempted to push Bobby out of the way.

"You'll get something, after we have a fucking talk." Bobby took a hold of Jack's arm pulled him out of the kitchen and towards the living room by way of the foyer. Jack didn't resist Bobby, though the sight seemed odd to Craig, with Jack's tall body looming over Bobby's short and stocky frame.

Craig picked up his second slice of toast and stared at it. His good mood seemed to have been shattered in an instant and along with it had gone his appetite. He hadn't meant to say anything wrong, and now Jack was pissed at him, and Bobby was pissed at Jack, and he felt as if a huge rock had settled into his stomach. He could hear Bobby's voice, but not all of the actual words. Some did filter through the house to him though.

"He's feeling good for the first time in a fucking month and you have to go and talk to him like that?" He yelled and then quieted his voice. "What is your fucking problem?" It rose again, and then fell back into barely audible sounds.

"I didn't mean it like that, I just don't feel good." Jack responded with his own yell, and then he followed Bobby's lead and quieted.

"He was trying to be helpful to you and you have to go and…" His voice went on, sounding pissed, but again the volume fell.

"I have a fucking hangover, what do you expect?" Jack responded in kind.

"You got more than a fucking hangover; you don't look like you slept at all. You want to tell me what the fuck is going on? Something else in that head of yours that you need to share that you neglected to mention before?" Bobby's voice wasn't quiet as loud, and Craig was sure he heard some of the words wrong. He wondered what it was that Jack had told Bobby before that he might need to share more of.

"Maybe there's more, but it's not anything I need to talk about, at least not now. It's just brought back some shit that I'm gonna have to deal with Bobby. Don't be pushing for more from me, I ain't ready." Jack's voice sounded loud and angry, but at the same time it seemed to hold a desperate secret behind it.

"Where the hell you think you're goin'? Get back here Jack, I wanna talk to you!" Bobby called out and Craig looked up in time to see Jack walking through the foyer. Seconds later he heard his heavy feet pounding on the stairs.

Craig was sure he could hear Bobby cussing, but he didn't return to the kitchen right away. The boy picked at the crust of his toast, his desire to eat completely wiped away. He wasn't so sure about playing any games now, and he damn sure didn't feel like going outside. He wanted to go back to bed and curl up into a ball, forgetting this morning had ever happened.

He knew Bobby would want to stick around the house now anyway, because he wasn't about to leave with Jack being in a pissy mood. That was okay, he didn't want to leave the house either, he wasn't sure what was going on, but there was something that his brothers hadn't told him about, he could feel it now. Maybe Jack was having a hard time getting past what had happened too, it would make sense. The man had been shot because of him, and then he'd been hurt again at the apartment, because of him, so it wasn't surprising that he'd be pissed off because of it.

Bobby stepped into the kitchen and grabbed his coffee mug off the table. He didn't say anything to Craig until he had refilled his mug and taken a drink from it. The features on his face were tense, and he looked as if he were thinking hard about something. He finally turned to Craig. "Come on, finish your breakfast and then you can go turn on your game." He seemed to be forcing his voice to come out steady.

Craig looked at him and tore at his toast again. He felt terrible inside. "What's wrong with him?" He asked quietly. "I didn't mean to make him mad." He felt his throat tighten up on him.

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "He's got shit on his mind Craig. Don't worry; it had nothing to do with you. I'm sure once he's had a chance to wake up and get his head out of his ass he'll tell you how fucking sorry he is that he snapped at you, okay?" He took another drink of his coffee. "Don't worry about it, not everything has to do with you, and this is one of those things that has nothing to do with you." Bobby still sounded agitated, and Craig tried to ignore it. He knew he wasn't upset with him, but it still didn't feel very good to hear it in his voice.

Craig looked back down to his toast and concentrated hard on the parts that seemed to be missing jelly, ripping them away slowly and dropping them on the small plate in front of him.

Bobby sucked in another deep breath and sighed heavily. "Craig, you didn't do anything wrong, okay?" He was forcing to tone to come out calm and even.

Craig didn't look up at Bobby, but he did nod his head slightly, "Okay." Deep down inside him he didn't know if Bobby was right. He felt bad that he'd said something wrong, and he felt worse that Jack seemed upset with him. Jack was the one brother who could understand a little of what he'd experienced, not only at the hands of Adam Macks, but when he was being held against his will by Victor Sweet.

Bobby sat down in his seat, eyeing the boy as he did. "So finish your breakfast instead of killing it." He gave the piece of toast Craig had slowly been tearing apart a slight nod.

Craig pulled the next piece off and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He forced himself to swallow after a few minutes. He made a mental promise to himself to try not to upset Jack any more. He couldn't stand the way he was feeling at that moment.

* * *

Jeff Jones tossed the last of his belongings into the trunk of the car and turned and looked at the motel room door. Hell, he'd come to think of it as home, and he felt odd leaving. He had met up with Chuck a couple of hours before, and hadn't been surprised at all that the doctor had a gun to sell him. He had settled his bill with the motel manager, and was ready to hit the road. His morning had been quite full, and he was going to be glad to get moving.

Somehow he couldn't get rid of the feeling that his hands were caked in grime. He'd washed them numerous times while he'd been packing. Macks had washed Donna's dead body, making sure to clean certain areas as best as he could. He had dressed her again, and had even fixed her hair up as best as he could, though he was far from being a 'Sammy' by any means.

Jones had taken over from there; he'd started the car to get it good and warm. He'd stashed the sheet from his bed in the back seat at that time, before going back in to get Donna's body. He'd made sure to put a coat around her, covering her head as much as possible, before pulling her left arm around his neck and dragging her out of the room, praying that if anyone did see them, they would think she was drunk off her ass. It had still been early enough that there weren't many people out and about on the street, and he'd gotten her to the car easier than he'd thought possible.

Once he'd positioned her in the front passenger's seat and strapped her into the seat belt, it had been smooth sailing from there. He didn't want to take her out of town. He wanted someone to find her pretty quick. He wanted her to be taken care of. Macks on the other hand argued the point that the longer she was missing the better off he was. He didn't need the heat that this little incident could bring down on them.

They had compromised, and dumped her body in the back lot of Carl's body shop, just on the edge of town. Jones reasoned that Carl could take care of cleaning up his little mess, and Macks laughed at the idea, thinking that Carl wouldn't want a dead body connected to his place of business, and would probably just move her to another spot. It would serve the bastard right, seeing as how he felt he should have paid him a little more than he had for his work, screw having to prove himself, he was worth more.

Macks had to take over once the body was out of the car, and lying under the sheet in the dirt and grass. He'd made sure his gloves were on before pulling out a pocket knife he'd picked up at some point during his stay in town, and then he'd pulled the sheet down to expose Donna's throat. He had to get rid of the hand impression pressed into her skin. He cut it away and then proceeded to dice it into small bits; sure no one would ever be able to find it all in the open space he was in at that moment. He gave the bits a toss and let them scatter. Once he was done he pulled the sheet back over her and pulled the gloves off his hand, making sure to let them turn wrong side out as he did. He wasn't going to toss them there for fear they would be found and prints could be lifted. He had to wait until they were hundreds of miles away. He stuffed them into the glove box of the car when he got back inside, and then he'd gone back to his room to clean up there.

Once the room was clean Macks had taken his shower and put Jones back on piece by piece. He'd carefully put in the contacts and the teeth. He styled his hair the way Sammy had shown him, and then pulled the elastic band on and nudged it into place. Jeff Jones had slowly appeared in front of him. He shaved and then dressed in some of the finest clothing he'd purchased durring his stay.

After he was sure there was no sign of Adam Macks left on the surface he had gone to see Chuck for the gun. Jones had made one last stop while he was out that Macks had been willing to go along with. Once he had the gun, he went back to that little diner for some breakfast, and he'd managed to see that sweet thing he'd been eyeing on the sly. It was his own little goodbye gift to himself, a little bit of eye candy.

He had called Higgins upon returning to his room, and told him to find out what was going on with both Jordan and Winston, he needed all the information he could get. He told to call him back when he had details that mattered. Higgins informed him then that there had been no real search at the pond for his body, but that they were planning on doing one as soon as the ice had broken enough to allow for it. Macks laughed at the idea. "Well, Higgins, let's hope they search it thoroughly." He was hoping they would search it well, and that it would happen soon. They might be in for a surprise.

Jones was ready to leave his memories of Donna, and his stay in that town behind him. Macks was ready to move on with his life, and with his plans. He would be in Detroit soon enough and he planned on having his son back in his hands by the New Year. That only gave him two days, so he would have to come up with a damn good plan in a short amount of time. That plan was going to hinge on Jones doing what the fuck he was told and doing it the way he was told. He warned his alter ego not to piss him off, and not to do any more stupid shit, or he'd have to get rid of him. He laughed to himself as he got into the car and started the engine. "Remember one thing Jeff Jones, I brought you into this world, I can get rid of you just as fucking easy."


	23. Chapter 23

I don't believe I managed to get this up tonight :) Thanks to all for reading, and for my three devoted reviewers thanks a million!

Let me know your thoughts, and with any luck I'll get another one up tomorrow :)

Still don't own, still make no money.

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**Chapter 23: That Spark Inside**

Bobby waited until Craig was settled in front of his new game system before venturing upstairs to locate his brother and find out what the hell his problem was. The kid didn't seem all too interested in playing any games after having Jack bite into him with a nasty attitude, and Bobby couldn't just let it rest. Craig seemed to riding a see-saw with his emotions and having a big brother snap for no apparent reason was not the best thing right now; he was worried about how well Craig would recover from it, but he was just as worried about Jack. It wasn't like him to turn himself into a total ass, not the Jack they knew now at least. When he was having problems before he'd been prone to mood swings, just as Craig was prone to them now, and the fact that it was coming back with Jack after his revelation the day before gave Bobby reason to believe it was connected to his encounter with Adam Macks.

That just confirmed for Bobby that Macks should have been killed long ago. Someone should have had the sense to sink a bullet into the man's skull and empty his brains on a wall. There was something wrong with him, mentally, or he was simply the devil himself in the flesh. He was pure evil and he seemed to enjoy torturing the family that had taken his son in as one of its own, even if he hadn't announced it at the time. It seemed that it was far too much of a coincidence that he'd had contact with an adoptive brother of his estranged son and God only knew what that man did to Jack while his claws were digging in. Bobby couldn't shake the feeling that Macks had known what the fuck he was doing when he managed to sink his claws into Jack.

He found Jack in the restroom, the door was pushed mostly closed, but it was open a crack. Bobby pushed the door open and the steam rolled out around him in swirling wisps, evidence that his little brother had taken a shower. Jack was pulling his jeans on and fastening them and he had his back to the door. He reached for his sweater and pulled it on over his wet hair, still not noticing Bobby standing in the doorway. He rested his hands on the sink and drew in a deep breath. He leaned in close and looked at himself in the mirror before he shook his head slowly. "You stupid shit, why the hell did you have to tell them anything to start with?" He mumbled to himself. He closed his eyes for a long moment and let it out slowly. He finally pulled back from the sink and mirror and turned towards the tub to grab his wet towel. His gaze met Bobby's and he sighed heavily, over exaggerating the action. "No privacy in this place. That's what made New York so fucking sweet, no one walking in on you, no one butting in where it wasn't any of their business." He didn't hold that tone that he'd carried earlier, downstairs, just after he'd gotten up, he simply sounded tired on the inside.

Bobby tried to remember what ever Jack was holding back from him, it had to be hard as hell for him to talk about. "Jack, I don't want you beating yourself up over what happened years ago. That son of a bitch used you, you know that." He commented quietly.

Jack stared at Bobby. "I know exactly what the fuck happened Bobby, I was there, remember? You weren't." Jack grabbed his towel and quickly hung it up on the towel rack. "I don't want to talk about it."

Bobby nodded his head. "I know that, and I ain't asking you to talk about it, not yet, not if you ain't ready." Bobby found the same voice he seemed to have reserved for Craig coming out with Jack. "You know we love ya, right?"

Jack froze in place, still holding the towel, though it had been draped over the rack so that it could dry. "I know that." His voice was barely audible, though the room was quiet. "I love you all too."

"Craig worships the ground you walk on. You know that too, right?" Bobby asked.

Jack laughed and turned to face his older brother. "Oh please, he worships the ground you walk on, not me."

Bobby took the laugh to mean it was safe for him to step the rest of the way into the room. "Jack, he's told you shit that he never told me. You made it a point to let him know you'd seen some shit and lived through it, just like him. For him, you are his fucking proof that he can be okay, don't you know that? I mean that's why you told him in the first place, ain't it? So he'd know that he could really survive what the fuck that bastard had done to him?" Bobby sat on lid of the toilet.

Jack sighed. "I know, I shouldn't have snapped at him like that." He muttered. "I'll apologize to him."

"Jack, it ain't that easy. You can't bite his fucking head off and then go back and tell him you're sorry, and expect him to be okay. You of all people should know that. I'm just catching on to it, but hell, I'm fucking slow to catch on to everything, but you, you know that shit. He was on some sort of good mood high until you made him feel like he'd done something wrong. He was ready to go back to the fucking rink, or go out in the street and play. He wanted to do some shit, and that's the first time since Ma died that he's wanted to do something real. He didn't head straight for his pad of paper so that he could hide from shit." Bobby shook his head.

"Bobby, I'm sorry, I'll talk to him." Jack sat down on the edge of the tub, in front of his brother. "I drank too much last night, and then I was up most of the night with dreams. What little sleep I did get wasn't that great, and then I woke up with one hell of a hangover. I'll explain it to him, and I'll tell him I'm sorry. I'll make sure he knows it wasn't anything he did."

"I know you will, and I appreciate how you were feeling, I really do Jack." Bobby nodded his head. "But don't ever talk to him like that again, don't you ever look at him the way you looked at him. I seen it, and I know damn good and well he felt what was behind your pissy mood. He don't know what the hell caused it, but he knew at some level it was connected to him, and it killed a spark that was starting to coming up in him, and I want to see that spark come back, do you got that?"

Jack nodded his head, "Yeah, I got that big brother." He looked down at the floor. "I'll make sure he knows for certain that he didn't do anything wrong, and that I am very sorry."

"You need to talk to me Jack. You need to let me help. We all know what the fuck you went through before; well we have an idea at least, and you know what you're doin' now ain't gonna help one bit." Bobby leaned forward towards Jack. "I don't want to see that spark go out in you either little brother, you know what I mean?"

Jack raised his head and somehow he and Bobby ended up being eye level in their positions. "Bobby, I can't talk about what that fucker did, I really can't. I just pray to God that me and Craig's experiences aren't as similar as I'm afraid they are. I'm going to be fine, really. It's fucking hard, but I'll be fine. Worry about the kid, not me." Jack was trying to sound strong, but Bobby could sense something else, he was trying very hard to hide more, to hold it in.

"Jack, you're a big boy. You ain't a kid no more. You know where your brothers are when you're ready to talk, but do me a favor; don't put yourself through the same hell Craig keeps putting himself through? You seen him, you know now what the fuck it looks like from our point of view, and it ain't pretty. It's fucking scary and I don't think I can go through all of that with another brother, especially not you for a second time. I've always felt a little closer to you, you know, because I had to kind of take you under my wing and turn you into a fucking man, but, please don't make me put you back together after you fall apart? Come to me, or Angel, or someone before you fall apart? Promise me that?"

Jack stared at Bobby for a long moment and there was evidence of tears threatening. He finally nodded his head and pulled back. "I will, I promise. I'm just not ready yet."

Bobby opened his mouth to tell Jack he really hoped he meant to keep that promise, but movement in the door caught his attention. He turned his head quickly, half afraid Craig had come up the stairs and had over heard them talking, though he'd told him to stay put and that he'd be back down soon enough. He was almost thankful to find Angel standing there in his robe.

"Damn, what the fuck is this, your private office Bobby? You think you gotta hold all your meetings in here? Hell, every time I need in here it seems you're sitting your ass on that toilet, or on the tub, holding some sort of private or personal conversation. You wanna get your ass up so I can use that toilet now?" Angel looked as if he were in pain.

Bobby let a snicker escape him and looked back to Jack. "Hell, I could set up a fucking desk in here, couldn't I? It seems like the one place in this house where people can unload, and I ain't talking shit."

Jack let out a short laugh as he stood, but he choked it off as soon as he turned to look at Angel's stiff expression. "The throne is all yours, your majesty." He stepped past Angel quickly, heading to his bedroom.

Bobby stood as well and was about to crack some kind of joke, but Angel pushed his way past him, and flipped the toilet seat up with a loud crack when it hit the porcelain tank. Bobby decided he didn't want to stick around for any more, and walked out quickly, pulling the door closed behind him. He was sure he could hear Angel sighing as he moved towards the stairs.

* * *

Craig wasn't doing very well with the game. Bobby had told him to play his game and not leave the living room. Bobby was going upstairs, and the boy was sure he was going up to talk to Jack again. He kept waiting to hear yelling coming from the second floor, but it never did. He couldn't seem to concentrate on shooting the enemy, though he was trying to. He changed the game to a racing game, but he seemed to do nothing but crash continuously.

He was starting a new race when Bobby came back down the stairs, and the man looked as if it may have gone well with Jack, though he wasn't about to tell him what they talked about. Craig knew something more was up than he was being told, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it could be. He felt almost certain that he'd done too much to piss Jack off. He had played the joke on him at Sofi's, with the whole bath thing, and it was because of him that he'd been hurt to start with. He couldn't blame Jack for hating him, but it still hurt a lot to think that Jack might not like him at all.

Bobby stepped past him and dropped next to him on the couch. "How are you doing?" He pointed to the game.

"I suck." Craig muttered.

"Hell, you were doing great on it before. Maybe you just ain't really into it?" Bobby held his hand out for the controller.

Craig gave it up, gladly. "Maybe not, "He agreed with Bobby.

"You gotta let it go Craig. He didn't mean it, he really didn't." Bobby spoke casually as he reset the game to start a new one. "He had too much to drink last night, and he shouldn't have been drinking to start with, okay?" He glanced at him. "He feels bad about the way he acted."

Craig nodded his head without really looking at Bobby. "Okay." He swallowed hard. "Can I get my sketch pad?" He asked. He really felt a need to draw at that moment. He couldn't get rid of that memory of the hateful look that had been etched into Jack's features just a short time ago. If he could draw it, maybe it would go out of his head.

"You can draw, but you gotta let me see it, and you gotta talk about whatever you draw." Bobby nodded his head. "No more drawing shit on paper and trying to hide from it, remember?"

Craig felt his heart sink and his shoulders showed his disappointment when they sagged down on him. He didn't move to go get his pad. He didn't think he could share what he was feeling with Bobby, not right then.

"You want to talk to me?" Bobby asked, and it gave Craig the chills how the man seemed to know what he was thinking, though he had it backwards.

"No." Craig muttered.

"Craig, I know you were hurt. I know it killed the good mood that you were in, and that kills me. But you can't think about how Jack talked to you. He's a human being too, just like you and me, and God knows you and me have both had our moments. Sayin' shit we don't mean, and then regretting it later. You know what I mean, right?" Bobby put the game on pause and set the controller down on the coffee table, turning to look at the boy, giving him his full attention.

Craig looked at Bobby and thought about his words. He'd given Bobby some pretty nasty attitudes since he'd been home. He knew that, and no, he hadn't meant it. He had felt so full of hurt and anger, and it had just come out in all different ways. He hadn't had any other way to release it. He nodded his head slowly after he'd thought about it enough. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He let his words come out slowly.

"Well, Jack just had one of those moments himself, and it had nothing to do with you, or anything you said or did. He was pissed about other things, he felt like shit, and we were both just in the line of fire." Bobby explained. He let a small grin form on his lips. "Hell, you need to get as much out of this as you can. Make him feel so fucking guilty that he goes out and buys you a new game or something." He poked at him playfully with his elbow.

"I heard that." Jack's voice filled the room.

Craig startled at the sound and looked up at Jack, who was standing in the doorway. He felt his insides freeze up.

"Craig." Jack stepped over to sit on the other side of the boy. He sat back in the cushions and looked down at him. "I'm sorry." He spoke kept his gaze on him. "I had no right to talk to you like that. I was wrong. I know Bobby already told you why I did it, but man, that don't make it right, and I could kick myself hard for doing that to you. I love you, and it kills me to think that I hurt you like that. You deserve a hell of a lot better." He kept his voice steady and quiet. "I know it's not fair to ask you to forgive me, but will you?"

Craig looked at Jack and swallowed back the tears that were trying to surge. "I'm sorry if I said something that…" He started to speak.

"I just told you, you didn't do a damn thing. I mean it; it wasn't you it was me. I got shit on my mind, and you know how that is. I drank too much, and you'd better not know what that's like." Jack forced a grin. "I'll go get you a game if that will help, but we need to get something that Bobby won't like, because you know he's just trying to get something for himself out of this with his little plan of making me feel more guilty than I already am."

Craig shook his head slowly. "I don't want a game." He muttered.

"Well, can you tell me you understand at least?" Jack pulled his arm around the boy's shoulder.

Craig glanced at Bobby, and thought about his words just moments before. "Yeah, I understand." He looked back at Jack.

"Good. So, let me make it up to you. Let's get the old man over there out front and whip his ass at some street hockey?" Jack offered.

"You ain't up for street hockey." Bobby shook his head.

"Oh, I was up for a night on the ice, but not for street hockey? Come on, it's warming up a little today. It's supposed to get above freezing and a bunch of this shit is supposed to melt off. Let's go out and enjoy it." Jack looked from Craig to Bobby and back to Craig, "You and me against the Michigan Mauler." He nudged the boy. "Come on, if you tell him you want to he'll do it. He'll do anything for you. Hell, I bet if you were to ask him for a new car he'd go right out and hot wire one for you." He managed a wide grin as he used Bobby's own tactic on the boy.

Craig knew that Jack was kidding, but his heart was feeling a little lighter. He knew Jack meant it when he said he was sorry, and that he hadn't done anything wrong. Though he couldn't shake the feeling there was still something else going on that he didn't know about. It made him feel uneasy, but he assumed that if it had anything to do with him, or if it was about Adam that his brothers would tell him. He had wanted to go out and play earlier when he'd been buzzing with energy from inside that he hadn't felt for a long while. He actually felt like joking a little bit at that moment.

He turned and looked at Bobby. "Will you?"

Bobby sighed and stared at Jack with a hard look, though it didn't look sincere. He looked down at Craig. "Okay, one game. I'll wipe up the street with both of your asses.

"No, will you go get me a car?" Craig asked, sounding as serious as he could.

Bobby gave him a startled look but it lasted only for a moment. "You little shit, you gonna let him use you like that? You can't drive; he thinks he'll get a car out of the deal, that's all." He grinned as he used Jack's own line against him.

Jack laughed out loud, as did Craig, and Bobby looked quite pleased. Craig felt the energy trickling back, slowly, and he found he was feeling better. It was easy to forget about how he'd been feeling just a few moments before, so long as Jack didn't hate him.


	24. Chapter 24

Thanks to all for the reviews! I appreciate them more than you know! Let me know what you think about this one, and thanks to all for reading :)

Legal stuff still counts...

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**Chapter 24: Consequences**

Bradley Jordan leaned over and looked out at the front lawn of his house. The toilet paper caked in the trees and neatly manicured shrubbery infuriated him, but at the same time it filled him with guilt because he knew their meaning. After so many years of fighting off the urges that had once occupied his every waking thought, he'd let one ass hole drag him down, had given into the temptation that he'd known would lose him his wife and kids, and drive that final wedge between him and his parents. He had known it couldn't bring him anything good, he'd known he'd regret every second he'd spent with Macks, and with that Mercer kid, but it had been so easy to give in. He had an excuse after all, Macks was blackmailing him, holding those pictures over him and forcing him by threat of bodily harm if he didn't do what he was told. He'd had no choice. He acted under duress.

Too bad the police didn't see it that way. Lieutenant Green, the detective that had questioned him for such a lengthily amount of time kept asking him about what he'd done with the kid but he hadn't admitted to anything. Hell, from the questions he'd been asked, the kid hadn't told anyone the things the school councilor had done to him. He wasn't sure what the kid had told the police or his own family, but Jordan denied the acts he'd delved into in that basement. He didn't admit to them, he didn't mention them.

He told Green that he had been threatened by Macks, forced to participate in his little scheme, and that he'd been in fear of his life. That hadn't been a lie, it had been the truth. He'd spilled his guts about everything he could, except for his own guilty pleasure in that basement, and had blamed that bastard for all of it. Thank God Macks was dead, fish food at the bottom of some remote pond in Ohio. If the man were alive he knew he wouldn't have any chance of making it to trial.

He was going to be tried for his crimes, no matter what he tried to tell the authorities, they all felt his attack on the Mercers was proof that he'd been a willing participant. Hell, he'd been scared shitless, that's all that was. He hadn't known what else to do. He was in fear of his life then, just as he was in fear of it now. He was sure that he was going to turn around in his own home one day and find the Mercers standing there, holding a gun to his head. He knew they wouldn't let it rest, what he'd done to Craig, and he knew that once the kid came out with the whole story, and he would eventually, that he was a dead man. It was probably best that his wife had left him, and taken the girls with her. It was probably best that his family had disowned him, had turned their backs on him with disgust. That way they wouldn't feel so bad when his final moments did come.

He'd hoped if he came clean about his past, about the problems he'd been struggling against that somehow his wife could forgive him. He told her he would seek help if she stood behind him, that he knew he needed help. He thought that the wedding vows he'd exchanged with his wife would mean something to her. Instead she had taken their own children for exams to be certain that he had never touched them in that way. Hell, he had two daughters; he had no desire to touch them. His girls had been safe, and he'd loved them, truly, from the bottom of his heart. Now he would never see them again, and they would be told, once they were older, just what kind of a monster their father truly was. They would hate him for the rest of their lives. He would never see his own grandchildren; he would never be a part of his family's lives again.

He had prayed that his parents wouldn't abandon him as well, but they refused to take his calls now, they wouldn't answer the phone, and not one member of his family had come to visit him. He had struggled for years to keep his obsessions secret, to hide them, and to resist the temptations that surrounded him on a daily basis. No one gave him any credit for that, no one considered the fact that he had struggled with this sickness since he was young, knowing it was wrong, and still having the desire invade his dreams and his waking fantasies, afraid of the ridicule he'd receive from his own family. He had tried to go to his mother once, when he was a teenager, and tell her he needed to see a doctor and get some help. Of course he hadn't gone into details, that would have been the last thing to do at that time, but he'd wanted help then and it had been denied to him. His parents suspected somethin, he knew they did, but they still denied him the help he wanted to seek. Once he was in college it was too late. He'd already made that radical leap from fantasy to action. He had never wanted anything more than his parents' approval, and when he'd married, it seemed he had finally won that. They had never expected him to be good enough to get a woman, a real woman, and yet he had.

Jordan sighed, wishing he could go outside and clean up the mess in the front lawn. He looked down at the strap around his ankle. The blinking light gave away the fact that he was constantly monitored, and that he couldn't leave the house. He was considered a high risk for fleeing. He'd depleted his savings to get out of jail, and now he couldn't even go more than five feet past his front door without the cops showing up to turn his life into a living hell. He wasn't sure who had gone wild with the toilet paper but he was sure it was to mark him as the sick pervert he was; the rumors had to be circulating throughout the neighborhood, though the news hadn't really picked up on the story, at least not yet. The details of other peoples' lives seemed to leak out so easily, no one could have secrets.

He was facing prison, and some punk thought it would be appropriate to mark his yard with toilet paper, telling the rest of the world this was the house of the pervert. His life was in ruins, and the fucking delinquents had to put their own mark on him. It was wrong. He had called the police, to report the vandalism, and they had done nothing more than laugh at him, though a cruiser did drive by later that morning, probably to look at the paper strung up in the icy trees and get their share of humor out of the whole thing. He looked back to the window and sighed. It was after one o'clock and he still hadn't been able to come up with a way to clear away the mess. There was no one he could call, no friends, no family, hell he was alone in this whole mess, and that pissed him off.

He didn't pay any mind to the Chevy Impala that moved slowly up the street, though he wondered why the driver would be moving at such a snail's pace. The streets weren't icy, the air was warming and the crap was now melting away. Hell, that's what was making the toilet paper in his front yard such a mess. For the hundredth time that day he fought off the urge to go out the front door and start picking the shit up. He wished he could turn his back to the sight, but it was like a car wreck on the side of the road, and he couldn't seem to get it out of his head, or look away.

He had tried to turn the television on earlier, but his cable service had been turned off, he hadn't been able to pay the bill. The school had suspended him, indefinitely, with no pay, another way of saying he had been fired. His wife had taken most of the money when she left. He was sure the power would be turned off in the next few days, and then the cops would want to put his ass back into jail, which didn't seem so bad right now. He was allowed to leave once a week to go grocery shopping, but he barely had enough money in the bank for a few days worth of those cheap noodles that came in cup and maybe some bread and milk. He had thought there was no way things could get any worse for him, until he'd looked out the front window first thing that morning to find the toilet paper blowing around in the trees like flags marking a target.

The Impala cruised by again, this time heading back up the way it had just come, the driver's side of the car exposed to his view. The window was rolled down, and for a split second he could have swore it was Macks driving past his house, but after taking a closer look he could see that it was a perfect stranger. He couldn't stop the chill from running down his back though, the feeling of having just seen a ghost overwhelmed him, and amazingly enough that was enough to release him from obsessing over the front yard. He turned away from the window and walked through the house to the computer. It was on, and had been for an hour or so. He had been surprised to find the Internet was still available to him.

He was sure the sites he'd been to were illegal, and that his computer would be taken in to be checked later, but he didn't give a fuck. The cops hadn't taken it yet. If they had taken it before, it would have been clean, no porn, no perverted material at all, but now it would have a history of sites that he'd been going to, sites with pictures and ways for him to feed the hunger inside. He was going to prison he knew there was no escaping that. He was going to pay for having this illness because no one wanted to help him. All of his family, the people who told him daily how much they loved him, couldn't see that he was a victim in this whole mess, and if that was the case, then he was going to feed his need as best as he could until the day they slammed that cell door closed behind him. Damn them all.

* * *

Jessup Winston sat behind his desk in his office. The phones which normally were ringing off the hook were silent and had been for days now. The word had leaked out about the police investigation into his business dealings, and now his legitimate dealings were suffering drastically. He had no wife to explain things to, but damn, the sound in his mother's voice when she had called was enough to kill him. He had let her down. He knew that. She had raised him better, and though he denied the charges to her, she seemed to know better. She said that she would pray for him, and he hadn't meant to laugh when she said that. Hell, she should have been praying for him years ago. She should have known about her son, she seemed to know him so well.

He had been forced to get rid of some of his office staff because they'd been talking to the press. People he'd been good to, people who he thought would always stand behind him had turned on him the first chance they got. The few stories that had hit the papers didn't go into details because the charges were so vague, thank God, but it had been enough that he may as well have stuck a large flashing light on top of his building with a sign that read 'Gangster'. His good name and reputation were on the line.

He had cooperated with Green, and had helped to locate the kid, and that supposedly had helped his situation. There were no kidnapping charges against him, but the damage was still significant. He was about to lose most of what he'd worked so hard for, and it was pissing him off. If Macks hadn't already been killed he would have killed the man himself. He still had his other employees, the men who did his bidding and showed him some respect. Hell, they respected him because he had always treated them well, and he still did. No matter what problems he was having, he made sure they all had a hefty Christmas bonus, and would have enough money to survive on until they found other employment, in the event that he was shut down completely.

His team of lawyers seemed to think they could clear his name from a good many of the charges, but not all of them, and it would be enough that the only hope he would have for the future would be the illegal shit he'd gotten involved in. He would lose everything else. Even if he did managed to make the complete switch over to the other dealings, the cops were going to be watching him close, waiting for him to slip up. He was screwed no matter what he did.

The phone on his desk rang, startling him. He hadn't had any calls and the sound seemed foreign to him. He figured it was probably his lawyer, or his mother. Maybe the cops telling him they needed him down at the station, again, or that they needed more of his files, that the last time they'd invaded his office they hadn't ransacked it quite as badly as they had intended. He pulled the phone to his ear and drew in a deep breath. "Winston here," He sounded exhausted, he knew that, but it wasn't as if he'd been sleeping much lately.

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then it went dead. The man growled a bit as he hung up the receiver. That had happened once earlier. Maybe it was the press trying to see if he was indeed still in his office. He didn't know and he didn't care; he just wished this nightmare would end soon. He was planning on moving back home, back to be close to his mother. No matter how much he had screwed up, she was always there for him, and he knew that. If he went back home, back to his roots, maybe he would be able to find a piece of himself that he'd stored away there, in her home, and he'd have the strength to make it through the rest of his life, rebuild what he'd lost and start over. That was all he could hope for right now. That was all that was left.

The phone rang again, and the irritation spurred inside of him. He reached out, jerked the receiver to his ear and his words spat out before he could stop them. "Can't you people leave me the fuck alone? I have no statement to give to the press, I have no comments, and how many times to I have to repeat myself?" He slammed the phone down before he could get the same silence that had greeted him the previous call.

Damn reporters. They had no problems turning a bad situation into a more frustrating nightmare. They didn't care about the feelings of other people, or the fact that they could drive a man to do something desperate. He'd been close to putting a bullet into his own head, but he'd backed out of it. Somehow it didn't seem it could solve anything, and how could he put his mother through that? He loved her too much.

The phone rang again. The man stared at the number displayed in front of him. He didn't recognize it. He sighed and answered it for a third time. "Winston." He moaned out the word, expecting the silence, or the voice of a reporter.

"Game's on Winston." The voice had a ghostly sound to it, and it sent chills down the man's back. He didn't have a chance to speak before the click in his ear marked the end of the call.

"Macks." The name escaped his lips before his brain had the chance to reason that it was impossible. It was impossible; the man was dead, wasn't he?


	25. Chapter 25

I wasn't sure I'd get this up tonight, but yea! I did :) Thanks for the reviews and thanks to all for reading. Let me know what you think!

Legal statement still counts.

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**Chapter 25: Some News From Green**

Bobby worked the small ball around in front of him with his hockey stick, as he ran towards the trash can they had set up to mark the goal next to the neighbor's car. Jack and Craig had been playing pretty good. He was surprised at how much more confidence Craig seemed to display on the blacktop than he did on the ice. That needed some work, the teen was actually pretty damn good when he felt more at ease, and he could be a damn good hockey player, a real hockey player. Of course that was what Bobby lived for, turning his brothers into damn good hockey players. Playing in the street was more for fun and didn't have to be as serious as a full game on the ice; maybe that difference had something to do with it.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that he just wasn't so serious while playing in the middle of the street himself and it put less pressure on the boy. He knew he needed to be more careful how he dealt with him when he was trying to teach him something new, and he would slowly work his way into that, but he was going to make the Mercer team became a team of five by the time the next Turkey Cup came up, that was a promise he made to himself while they were running up and down the street like three small children.

Bobby had already scored twice, and Jack had managed to score once. Craig had come close to a goal, but Bobby had cheated by dropping his stick in the middle of the street, running up to him, grabbing him around the waste and swinging him around once. After dropping him back to his feet he'd grabbed the boy's stick and raced Jack to the ball and had scored one of his two goals.

Now Bobby was trying to add some points to his count, with Jack and Craig both on him. He was dodging Jack's attempts at stealing the ball when out of nowhere Craig came at him, dropping his stick and jumping into him from behind, latching onto his back with his arms holding him around his shoulders and his legs wrapping around his waist. It had the desired effect; it practically stopped the senior Mercer in his tracks, causing him to lose the ball. Jack took the opportunity and picked the ball up for as casual a goal as one could get.

Normally Bobby would have been pissed, but hell, this was street hockey, and they were doin' this for fun. It felt could to hear Craig laughing and enjoying himself for a change. They needed to keep him laughing as much as possible. What was it his mother had always said? Laughter is soothing for the soul? Yeah, most people said shit like, 'laughter is the best medicine', but Evelyn Mercer had always had a way of making some things seem just a little deeper.

Bobby feigned irritation. "What is this? You can't jump on me; that's a foul!" He cried out while reaching up and grabbing the boy's arms. He did a quick spin around to his right, making several rotations before stopping and letting Craig climb down to the ground.

"Well you picked me up before, and that wasn't a foul." Craig argued, but he obviously knew his big brother was joking, because he was smiling himself.

"Hell, he's just pissed that we scored again." Jack called from a few feet away. He was breathing hard. They had been playing strong for a good thirty minutes now, and all of them were showing signs of getting tired.

Jack and Bobby had both stripped out of their coats almost immediately because of the warming air, but Bobby wouldn't let Craig, and there was a sweat on his brow now. The last thing Bobby wanted was for either one of his little brothers to end up getting sick.

"You ready for a break?" Bobby asked Jack. His little brother's face held a strained expression.

"Yeah, I think so; I'm not used to this anymore." Jack nodded his head.

"But we just tied the game." Craig spoke up.

"Yeah, we tied, but I need to take a break kid." Jack forced a deep breath. "Okay?"

Craig nodded his head. "Okay."

"Yeah, we can finish this later. You go put that trash can back on the curb." Bobby pointed to their goal.

Craig ran over to grab the trash can while Bobby picked his and Craig's sticks up out of the street. Bobby almost wished some neighborhood kids would come out so Craig would have someone to play with. Jack could go in, and Bobby could watch them from the front steps, like he used to when Craig was smaller. None of the kids had ventured out yet. It was only ten o'clock, and most of them were probably using their Christmas break from school to stay up later than they normally would be allowed, and sleeping in until noon.

Jack walked over to Bobby and glanced over at Craig. "He seems okay now. You think he is?" He looked back at Bobby. "I mean, we could stay out here a little longer if he really needs to."

Bobby shook his head. "He's good Jack. Thanks for coming out with us. You don't need to make yourself sick again by over doing it. Don't over due it because you feel guilty either. You hear me?" The sound of the metal can grinding against the street finish grated against both men's ears. "Craig, pick it up!" Bobby called out and looked over to where the teen was dragging the offensive object across the street.

Craig picked the can up and continued walking towards the curb. Bobby and Jack walked over to Bobby's car and grabbed their coats off the hood. All three met up on the sidewalk and were heading for the front porch when the sound of a car engine and a honking horn drew their attention. Bobby turned first, to see Jeremiah's car stopped at the corner. He looked at Jack and Craig. "You two go on in." He handed Craig the hockey sticks he'd been carrying. "Good game kid." He grinned at him.

Craig grinned back while he took the sticks before following Jack into the house. Bobby was glad he'd thought to tell him he'd played good. He needed to remember to tell him when he did well, no matter what it was. Craig needed to build up some self esteem, he didn't seem to have much confidence in anything he did except his drawing.

Bobby turned to watch Jerry park in front of his car. "What the hell you doin' here in the middle of the morning little brother, ain't you got work you're supposed to be doin' so that your bum assed brothers got jobs after the New Year?" He called out with a grin on his face as soon as Jerry got out of the car.

"You ain't been answering the phone." Jerry didn't respond to Bobby's joke.

"Yeah, well we've been out here playing in the fucking street, it's a little hard to hear the phone from here. Angel's in the house though." Bobby cocked his thumb towards the house as he spoke. "What's goin' on?" He could see a serious look on Jerry's face.

Jerry opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment another car pulled up, right behind Bobby's car. Green got out and shut the door carefully. "Good morning." He shot a smile towards Jerry and then to Bobby.

Bobby looked from Jerry to Green and then back to Jerry. "Okay, do we need to have this conversation out here?" He asked cautiously.

"Maybe, I don't know what all you want Craig to hear." Jerry managed a small grin.

"What's up Jerr'?" Bobby repeated his earlier question. He could feel his body growing tense, but he tried to fight down the immediate worry that was building.

Jerry looked over at Green. "Green called me about an hour ago. I tried to call you, he tried to call you, but no one would pick up. I was starting to get worried. Did you put the phone on the fucking charger?" He looked back to Bobby with an irritated look on his face. "You know, it don't do much good to own a phone if you ain't gonna let it charge enough that it's gonna work."

"Damn it Jerry, just tell me what the fuck is goin' on." Bobby was getting more worried now. If Green was there it had to be something to do with Macks. Did they drag the pond? The warm up should have hit Ohio as well, though he hadn't watched the news to check out the weather, he was just assuming. If they dragged the pond, what had they found? Was there a body at the bottom of all that muck and silt in the bottom? Had they pulled Mack out of his frozen tomb or had there been a body to pull out at all?

Green started pulling off his black leather gloves. "I expect a cup of coffee; you do know that, don't you?" He looked at Bobby with a blank expression.

"You know what; you can have a whole fucking pot of coffee, after you tell me what the hell is going on. Do I need to lock the kid up in the house for the next ten years to keep him safe?" Bobby was starting to move past irritated, and onto pissed. This wasn't the kind of shit that needed to be joked about. He needed to know if he was going to be going on a hunting trip to rid the world of Adam Macks or if the man was already dead.

Green grinned. "Calm down Bobby, this is good news." He shoved his gloves into his pocket.

Bobby gave Green a sideways look, and then shifted his eyes to find Jerry. He wasn't sure if he believed the cop or not, but if his brother confirmed it he would accept it.

Jerry nodded his head and let a big smile cross his face. "Hell yeah it's good news."

"They dragged the pond late yesterday. They got a body. It's been messed up pretty bad. Fish have been nibbling on it." Green drew in a deep breath. "There has been no positive ID on the body yet, but they do have a body now."

Bobby felt relief run through his body. It started as a warm sensation in the back of his head and seemed to travel down through his blood, relaxing some muscles he hadn't known were tense until that moment. A body had been dragged up out of the bottom of that pond, and there seemed to be little doubt that it was Macks. This wasn't just good news, this was fucking great news. He turned to Jerry, not sure exactly what to say.

"Now, can I have that pot of coffee?" Green leaned towards Bobby a bit. "There is some more I need to talk to you about."

Bobby stared at Green for a moment. "Get your ass in the house Green. I'll get the coffee goin'." He gave his head a nod towards the house.

Bobby let Jerry lead Green into the house. He wasn't surprised when Jerry stopped in the living room to check on Jack and Craig, who had decided to join Angel in playing the game system that had been so popular among all of the brothers on Christmas day. Bobby took Green's coat and hung it up on the rack in the foyer before leading the man on to the kitchen. He pointed to the kitchen table. "Have a seat officer. The Mercer home is your home." He was being a smart ass and it came out in his voice, he knew it, but some old habits seemed to die hard.

Green laughed and sat at the table. "Damn Bobby, you still got no trust in me, do you?" He didn't seem the least bit offended. "Hell, I don't blame you. Most of the cops in this town have given everyone a reason to fucking doubt us all. That's too bad too, because there are few of us good guys left."

Bobby sighed as he poured water into the coffee maker and then set about fixing the filter. "No offense Green, I just can't help thinking about the badge in your pocket. You might be one of the good guys, but you got rules you gotta go by, even if it means letting the real scum loose on the streets and bustin' the small time hoods." Bobby muttered. "Look at how long Sweet went about his business without as much as a fucking slap on the wrist."

"I know what you mean, but believe it or not, we do try to go after the real scum." Green kept his eyes on Bobby. "We had an undercover officer in Sweet's group. I can't say who it was, obviously, but we were going after him, we just needed to get the right evidence."

Bobby looked over at Green. "Fuck the right evidence. You know someone is dirty, you take them down. That's the way it should be." He kept his tone even.

"They got rights just like you and me Bobby. They have the right to defend themselves in a court of law. That means if we don't have the right evidence, and if it hasn't been acquired in the proper manner, then they walk away." Green commented quietly. "After they walk once, it's near to impossible to bust them again."

"Except for the poor bastards that are small time, stuck in their way of life because they know nothing else, right Green? They can be strong armed and screwed over." Bobby turned and looked at Green.

"Not by me. I know it happens, and if I see it I stop it, and I report it. That's all I can do." Green drew in a deep breath. "But I ain't here to talk the law with you." He shook his head. "I'm here because I thought you would like to know what's going on with Bradley Jordan."

Bobby walked over to the cupboard and pulled out three coffee mugs. "Jordan." He muttered. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what was going on with that sick fucker. He would have preferred putting a bullet into the man's brain, but he was willing to give the system a chance at making him pay for touching his baby brother. "So what the fuck is going on with Jordan?" He felt the tension slipping back through his body.

"He goes on trial on January twelfth." Green informed. "The district attorney should be contacting you anytime, in fact, I'm surprised he hasn't yet."

"January twelfth. A little speedy ain't it Green?" Bobby let out a sarcastic laugh.

"He admitted to most of the charges Bobby." Green shrugged his shoulder. "Sick fucker claims he's been fighting his 'illness' since before college. He claims there were pictures of him participating in some pretty fucked up acts with some underage boys. Somehow Macks got a hold of them and forced him to do what the fuck he was told. He claims he never touched Craig, he just hauled him around, and did what Macks told him."

Bobby felt his blood run icy and it sent a chill down his back. "Bullshit." He grabbed the three mugs he'd just set on the counter and carried them over to the table, setting them down a little harder than he needed to. "You know as well as I do what that son of a bitch did to Craig." He felt his teeth grind together.

"I do know, and the D.A. knows too. He ain't stupid, but he needs that evidence. He needs something to make that particular charge stick. Jordan's going to prison, just how long depends on whether or not he goes in as a convicted child rapist or not." Green kept his voice quiet.

Bobby was grateful for Green's foresight in keeping the volume low. The last thing he wanted was for Craig to hear any of this conversation. "So what the fuck you trying to tell me Green?" He planted his hands on the table and leaned towards Green. He wasn't trying to be threatening, but he didn't like the way this was starting to sound.

"There was no DNA evidence on Craig, not after he went waist high into that water. He is going to have to talk to the District Attorney, Bobby." Green leaned forward in his chair pulling closer to Bobby, maybe to let him know he didn't feel threatened. "He is going to haveto give a statement, whether we want that to happen or not. If he doesn't, Jordan will still go to prison, and believe me, he'll find out what it means to be on the receiving end for a change, but the amount of time he's in, is going to hinge on whether this one charge can be proven. That means Craig may have to testify." Green spoke carefully.

"Oh hell no," Bobby's back stiffened, forcing him to stand straight and back off from Green.

"Bobby, think about it at least." Green tried to go on, but Bobby shook his head.

"No way Green, you can forget it. He ain't talking to no fucking attorney about shit. He can't right now." Bobby made sure his tone had the note of finality to it.

Green sighed and started to say more, but Jeremiah walked into the kitchen holding the cordless phone in his hand. "Dead as a doornail," He held the phone up as if to make some kind of a point and was smiling as he walked over to the base for the phone and let it settle into its position. He turned back to Bobby and Green. "So, I take it you told him about Jordan." He commented after looking at Bobby for a long moment.

Bobby felt his eyes shoot flames towards Jerry. "You knew about this." He shook his head.

"I told him I didn't think you would go for it. But, Bobby you might not have a choice." Jerry shook his head. "They can make him do it, or at least try to. Wouldn't it be easier if we went to him and explained it all to him and let him have some say it this?"

"Let him have some say?" Bobby couldn't believe Jerry had just said that. "Jerry, less than twenty four hours ago that kid was laying in a heap on the floor nearly out of control, remember that?" He asked.

"Yeah, I do, and that's why I think it might be better to be up front with him." Jerry nodded his head. "He's doing a hundred times better right now and it's because we made it clear that we'll be there for him. If we keep this from him, and the District Attorney comes back with papers that force us to let them talk to him, it's just gonna be a hell of a lot worse. He will not trust us if we keep this from him." He kept his voice quiet and even. He wasn't the least bit upset, or he didn't seem to be anyway, and that just infuriated Bobby even more.

"Fuck you Jerr', you can't stand by your brother for somethin' like this? There's something wrong with you being willing to throw him to the wolves." Bobby startled slightly when the coffee maker beeped, letting them know the coffee was finished.

"Actually, when I first talked to Jerry, he was calling me every name in the book, and I don't mean the Bible." Green spoke up. "He didn't like it any better than you do. But if we get Craig's statement, we may be able to keep it anonymous. He is a minor, and if we handle this right, then we can keep as much of the focus off of him as possible. No one would ever know his name. If they have to force this Bobby, they will have to issue a subpoena and that will make his name available to the public. Now what do you think the best thing would be for him?" Green spoke quickly. "Believe me Bobby, I have talked to the D.A. several times, and he is trying his best to keep Craig out of the courtroom. If we do this right, he could talk to the judge in his chambers, or make a written or recorded statement, something admissible. We're doing our best, please, at least think about it."

Bobby drew in a deep breath, holding his stare on Jerry for a long moment before walking over to the coffee maker and picking up the pot. He filled the three mugs and looked at Green, "Cream or sugar?" He asked with a flat tone. His mind was mulling over the words from both men, considering that they were probably right, and if they could keep Craig's name out of any papers and off the news that would be the best way for it all to play out. Knowing they were right didn't make him feel any less angry.

"No thanks Bobby, I'm good with it black." Green reached for a cup.

Bobby was pissed, and he knew it wasn't Green's fault, not really. He had to channel his anger though, before he relented to the inevitable and called Craig in to talk to him. "You sure about that Wilber, cause we got some flavored creamer in the fridge, Jerry loves the shit." He spoke Green's first name casually, as if he used it every day.

If he didn't know better, he could have sworn steam was starting to rise from Green, though the man didn't look up at him, when he spoke, his voice was stiff and strained. "No, thank, you." He held the cup up to his lips and took a small sip.

"Wilber," Jerry stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled out the creamer Bobby was referring to, "Wilber?" He repeated. "What the fuck kind of name is Wilber?" He started laughing. "Sorry there Wilber, no offence. I just never knew. I never expected." He shook his head as he poured the cream into his own mug of coffee. He stepped over to the refrigerator and set the creamer back inside. The door had closed securely before he lost control and started laughing. "Damn, no wonder you don't go by your first name." He barely made it to a chair to sit down. "You need anything else there Wilber?"

Green looked across the table at Jerry, but didn't smile, and Bobby seemed to feel a little less irritated. Hell, he felt a little better. Now he just had to think about what he was going to say to Craig.


	26. Chapter 26

Thanks to every one for reading, and special thanks for the reviews! :)

Still don't own, still poor...

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**Chapter 26: Returning To Reality**

Craig sat in front of the fireplace, watching Angel and Jack fight against an enemy in some war. He had been playing with Angel, but decided to take a break. He couldn't get the fact that Green was sitting in their kitchen out of his head. He wished he knew what was going on. He couldn't really hear their voices because of the television, but every so often he heard what sounded like a pissed Bobby speaking. He offered to go and get Jack and Angel something to drink but they had told him no. They didn't want anything, and they didn't think Bobby wanted him in the kitchen. Well, that wasn't a surprise. He knew Bobby didn't want him in the kitchen, but if they were talking about him, he felt he needed to know what it was about.

He had been keeping the missing body of Adam Macks out of his thoughts, but now it had popped right back into his head. What if they hadn't found a body? What if he was alive out there somewhere? He had seen a bullet exit his Adam's body and he'd watched him fall. He knew that, but in the back of his mind he was remembering that one all too important fact. Adam Macks always came back. He always returned, and every time he did he was worse than the last time. That was just the way it was. He should have known that he wouldn't be able to hide from the reality of everything that had happened forever. He'd been able to spend that morning playing and pretending everything was normal. He'd had the chance to feel happy and safe with his brothers. Now it was time to return to reality.

He mentioned that he wanted some water, hoping for an excuse to go into the kitchen, and Angel just gave him an 'I know better than that' look. "You can wait, or I'll go get you some water, but you ain't goin' in that kitchen. Bobby will tell you what ever Green has to say when he's damn good and ready."

Craig didn't believe Bobby would tell him everything. Not that he could blame his brother; part of him wasn't so sure he wanted to know what the news was that Green was delivering. Another part of him was more than curious; it needed to know what was going on. It was his life, it was about him. He had a right to know.

Not long after Jerry had walked out of the living room Craig could have swore he heard him laughing, and that had to be good sign, right? If there was bad news Jerry wouldn't have been laughing about it. He hadn't heard Bobby laughing though. In fact what little he could hear of Bobby's voice had his usual pissed off, angry at everything in sight sound to it.

Craig let his gaze rest on the television to watch the game progress. He wasn't really able to keep up with it though. All of the possibilities for Green's visit were popping into his mind now. It may not have been about Green at all. Maybe it was about Jordan. Or worse yet, maybe the cops were going to go after his brothers for all the shit they'd done the past month. Everything with Sweet, and then with the gang of teenagers that had chased him and Angel down the street. Angel had shot Macks; maybe they had found a body and they were going to go after his brothers for murdering him now. The 'what if' game was in full swing when Bobby stepped up to the doorway.

"Craig." Bobby spoke just loud enough to be heard over the television. It took a moment for Craig to register the sound of his brother's voice. As soon as it penetrated his thoughts he looked up at the man.

"Come in here." He waved for Craig to follow him, and then looked at Angel and Jack. "You two might want to hear this too." He announced.

Angel and Jack looked up at him and quickly put the game on pause before standing. Craig couldn't bring his body to move. He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly wished his world didn't have to be shattered. He wanted to know what was going on, but he didn't want the safety zone to be ripped apart either.

"Come on, it's okay." Bobby looked back at Craig. Apparently his feelings were showing on his face.

Craig felt Angel reach down and grab hold his wrist, pulling him up from his seat. "Come on, I thought you wanted some water." He teased.

Craig didn't struggle against his brother; he let him pull him to his feet and then walked ahead of him to Bobby. He felt Bobby's arm drop on his shoulders as soon as he was next to him and he felt a little better. "What's going on?" He asked quietly.

"Well come in here and I'll tell you." Bobby guided him onto the kitchen. Green and Jeremiah were both seated at the table, sipping on coffee, and Bobby had a cup for himself sitting on the kitchen counter. Craig didn't like the way it was all starting to feel, almost as if he were walking into a trap. He wanted to turn and run for the stairs, to his room, or the safety of his mother's room, and hide from whatever was about to be shared with him.

"Relax." Bobby leaned down and spoke to him; apparently the tension of the situation was moving into his body. "You want to sit?"

Craig shook his head slowly, no he didn't want to sit; he wanted to be right there next to Bobby where he felt safe. Angel got a coffee cup out of the cupboard and poured cup of coffee before sitting in a kitchen chair. Jack pulled his self up onto the counter to sit, leaving one chair empty at the table, perhaps thinking that Craig might change his mind, or that Bobby would want to sit. Bobby didn't sit, and Craig wasn't about to put himself in a position where he would feel more trapped than he already did.

He'd been curious just a moment before, but he hadn't expected Bobby to bring him into the kitchen, or that he would have Angel and Jack join them. The fact that Bobby had come for him couldn't mean this was good, he was sure of it.

"I'm gonna let Green tell you the news." Bobby looked at Green and drew in a deep breath.

Green was in the middle of sipping on his coffee, and he took his time sitting the cup back on the table. For some reason he was giving Bobby a look that didn't have the appearance of being all too friendly. When he sat back in his chair and turned his eyes towards Craig the look softened. "They found a body in the pond, late yesterday afternoon. They still have to confirm the identity, and that's going to take a little time." He managed a small smile. "It wasn't a pretty sight from what I hear, but it's a body, and that's good news."

Craig wasn't sure what he felt at that moment. He didn't feel sad. He didn't feel happy either. He hated Adam Macks. He despised him, and he'd been terrified of him, but there was no emotion left in him now to feel much about the fact that he was dead. He had wanted him dead, he'd prayed that the man was dead, but deep down he had somehow believed Adam Macks couldn't die and woud always haunt him and torture his thoughts. He had expected that he would feel good to hear this kind of news. The monster was dead. He couldn't come back for him, and he could never hurt him or anyone else again. So why didn't he feel something, anything, about him being dead?

There was quiet in the kitchen. It surprised Craig when Jack was the one who broke that silence that seemed to have fallen around them. "Well it's about damn time we got some kind of good news." He spoke quietly, but his voice seemed to have something else hidden underneath, something that felt familiar to Craig, but he couldn't quite identify.

"You okay?" Bobby gave Craig a slight squeeze around his shoulders.

"Yeah," Craig muttered, but didn't look up at Bobby. He purposely didn't look at anyone that very moment. They would expect him to be happy about Adam Macks being confirmed dead. How could he explain to any of them that he wasn't feeling what he should be feeling?

"You're sure?" Bobby pushed.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Craig still didn't look up.

"Well, there is more." Green spoke slowly. "I hate to have to ruin the good news with some not so good news, but this isn't bad news, not really." He was trying his best to sound convincing, but it wasn't working.

Craig waited for Green to go on, but there was quiet. He finally looked up at the detective, expecting him to speak, but it was Bobby who cleared his throat quietly and drew in a deep breath.

"They are trying to get Jordan for as much as they can, but there is nothing to prove that he 'touched' you." Bobby spoke quietly. He pulled his hold on the boy a little tighter, as if he knew Craig was going to need to feel his arm there and know he was going to be okay.

Craig lifted his gaze and turned his head to his left to look at Bobby, but he didn't try to guess at what was coming.

"The District Attorney wants to talk to you. He wants to get your statement, maybe on paper, or maybe on tape, something that would be admissible in court." Bobby spoke the words a little fast, as if he were forcing the words to come out. It sounded almost as if he didn't want to say them.

Craig's arms raised goose bumps and he felt his self shiver slightly. "Why?" He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. "What if I don't want to talk to him?"

"Well, they can force you to Craig." Bobby spoke carefully. "Believe me, I don't like it either. I think we all would have been better off if I'd been allowed to off the fucker from the start."

"Bobby," Jerry spoke up from his seat, drawing Craig's attention to him. "Don't say that kind of shit to him." He looked at Craig. "Listen, it won't be that bad. We can be there with you, can't we Green?" He turned and looked at the cop on the other side of the table and Craig followed his gaze, looking at Green and praying he'd tell them that Craig could have them with him, that he could feel Bobby's arm around him the whole time he talked to the District Attorney so that he could feel safe.

Green shrugged his shoulders. "He will probably want a child advocate with him, and not anyone who could be seen as a person who could coerce his testimony in any way; probably a qualified child psychologist. You all might be considered too close to him for the D.A. to allow you to right there with him." He looked as if he wished he could have confirmed Jerry's words, he really did, but what he'd just said sent fear straight through the boy that he couldn't explain.

"I don't want to." Craig spoke before he could stop himself. "Please Bobby, I don't want to." He turned to face his oldest brother straight on. "Please?" He knew he sounded desperate, but he felt panic starting to build, and he needed Bobby to tell him it was going to be okay, that he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to.

"Craig, listen to me." Bobby grabbed hold of both of Craig's shoulders. "If you go up there and talk to them, and give them a taped statement, or write something out for them. Maybe even draw some pictures for them; then no one will have to even know your name. No newspapers, no television news, none of them. It will all be confidential. If they start issuing papers that force you to go then there's a chance someone will get your name and leak it to reporters and then it will end up on the news. Do you want that?" He asked in that quiet voice Craig was used to hearing when he was being more fatherly than brotherly.

"Please Bobby, I can't." Craig felt the tears starting work up through his throat. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. You look at me." Bobby moved his hands from Craig's shoulders to both sides of his face and held it in line with his own gaze. "You are stronger than you think you are. Hell, if it had been me, if I'd ever had to go through what you have gone through, I never would have been able to deal with it like you have. I know it's been hard, but damn boy, you got something inside of you that I never had, and I don't want you to lose that. I want you to use it. Use it the way it needs to be used. You can do this, and you'll be okay. I won't let them separate us by much more than one door, and I'll bust in there to stop it if you yell for me, okay?"

"But…" Craig started to argue that he wasn't as strong as Bobby thought he was.

"No, Craig, he's right. You can do this. You have to. Do you want Jordan to get out of what he's done to you?" Jack spoke from his seat on the counter. "It's gonna be hard, but you know you can do it."

Craig felt lost; he didn't want to talk to anyone about what had happened. He'd had a hard enough time letting it out with his brothers. It had been like a knife twisting around inside of him as it worked its way out, and he could never have made it through if it hadn't been his brothers that he'd been unloading on. He shook his head slowly. "I can't." He felt the fears and panic that had been released just the day before coming back just as strong as they had been. They felt more intense, and every nerve in his body seemed to succumb to them.

His mind seemed to screaming out at him that he should have expected this. He should have known it would happen again. They had made him talk to people when Adam had killed his real mother, Lydia, and they'd made him draw pictures, and talk about the blood, and the way the man had shot him. This was the reality of the whole shitty mess and he knew that.

"Craig, if you don't tell them what he did to you, he'll still go to prison, but he'll be out in a few years, sooner than he should, and he'll be let loose on other kids, because he won't have anything on his record to label him as a pedophile, a predator out to hunt innocent kids and hurt them the same way he hurt you." Green was the one who spoke the words that seemed to sink in a little bit. "No one will make him register as a sex offender, because there will have been no charges against him to put him into that category of people. Do you understand that?"

Green's words made it past his own fear and desperation and he squeezed his eyes closed as the meaning of them sunk in. If Jordan got out of prison, and he hadn't been convicted of forcing him to be his plaything, to obey his every command, and to give him pleasure and satisfaction, then there was no way to label him as dangerous to others for the same kind of thing. He understood the words. He understood that he should care, and he didn't want anyone else to be hurt, but his own memories of the terror that had been in that dark basement with him wouldn't release that hold on him long enough to really give a damn about what the sorry son of a bitch did in a few years. He only cared about how he was feeling right then and there.

He had hoped that Bobby would wrap his arms around him right then and tell him that it was okay, that he wouldn't make him do anything he didn't want to. His brother wasn't doing that at that moment. He wasn't going to do it, he could feel it. Bobby was going to make him tell total strangers how Jordan had touched him, and made him perform for him in ways that were sickening. He was going to have to tell people he didn't know where he'd had to put his mouth, and what had been forced into it. He would have to tell how Jordan threw him onto his stomach and lay on him, forcing it in and nearly crushed him, not caring how hard he pushed or how much it hurt him.

Craig felt the tears starting to fall and he opened his eyes and looked up to Bobby. "I have to, don't I?" He asked weakly. "You're gonna make me." He knew he sounded small, and scared.

"I don't want to make you do this Craig, I really don't. But they are going to make you do it one way or another, and if we fight this, it's only going to make it harder on you." Bobby's voice sounded as choked up as Craig's. "I'm sorry I can't tell them all to go straight to hell, but I can't. I don't want your name in the papers or all over the news and I'm sure you don't want that. I don't want him to get out in five years and do the same thing to someone else either. You don't want that either, do you?"

Craig stared at Bobby for a long moment; all hope of his brother saving him from this was lost. "I don't care what happens to him. I don't care about what he hasn't done yet, or who he hasn't hurt yet. He already hurt me." He heard his words escape him. "I won't talk to them; no one can make me talk about it." He tried to pull away from Bobby, a mixture of more emotions working their way into his chest. Anger and frustration were only two of many more, more than he could identify.

Bobby was abandoning him to what someone else wanted him to do. He wouldn't do it, he couldn't do it. If everyone cared about him so much, then why would they want to make him tell perfect strangers what had happened to him? How could they expect him to talk about it with someone he didn't know when it was so hard to talk to his own brothers? He had lost all control the day before, he'd lost control and if his brothers hadn't been there he wasn't sure what would have happened.

Bobby looked as if he were being twisted around on the inside, and though Craig could recognize that his brother was having a hard time making him do something that he didn't want to, he was still angry with him for it. "Craig, think about this for a little bit before you say things like that. What if there was someone who could have stopped him before he had a chance to get to you and they didn't? How do you think they would feel now, if they knew about you? I don't want you to find out later that you could have stopped someone else from being hurt and end up regretting what you say and do right now." Bobby did what Craig had wanted him to do, and had waited for from the start. He let go of his face and wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close to him. "It's okay." He spoke calmly. "You're gonna be fine, I promise you that."

Craig didn't try to pull away from him; he rested his forehead on Bobby's chest and shook his head slowly, though he couldn't get any more words out. He couldn't seem to find his voice through the tightness in his throat the tears were bringing on. He let the security that Bobby's arms held sink into him and it started to calm him ever so slightly. He swallowed hard to clear out his throat and be able to speak. "I'm scared to talk to them Bobby. What if I lose it?" He asked quietly.

"You won't." Bobby's voice seemed very close to his ear.

"Will I have to see him?" Craig couldn't bring himself to say Jordan's name. He was giving in; he knew he didn't have a choice. Bobby was going to make him do this no matter what he said to try to change his mind. Deep down he knew Bobby was right. He would regret it later if he didn't speak up now and found out later Jordan had done the same thing to another boy somewhere.

"No, I don't think you will. At least not in person, they may ask you to point out a picture of him." Green spoke up to answer the question.

The kitchen fell silent for a long time. Bobby held onto Craig, and the boy let himself cry, not caring that Green was there to witness his tears. He didn't care about much of anything right then.

"When are they going to want to see him?" Jerry asked the question.

"I'll let the D.A. know I've talk to you all, and he'll probably be calling you tomorrow. He needs the information as soon as he can get it, so he will probably call you later this afternoon, or tomorrow." Green went on to say more, but Craig didn't listen. The call was going to come later that day, or the next. He was going to have to go to some fancy office and talk to a total stranger about what had happened to him. His day had started out good, at least after the whole pissy Jack thing had been gotten out of the way. Now he couldn't see any way that he could ever feel good again for the rest of his life.


	27. Chapter 27

Thanks to all for reading, and special thanks to the people who review! You guys are the best :)

Let me know your thoughts on this one!

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 27: The Ghost of Adam Macks**

Bradley Jordan jumped in his seat when the phone rang. He hadn't received a phone call since the last time his wife called to let him know that she was sending the kids to her mother's, in Kansas. They wouldn't be around to see anything on the news, or hear any of the talk that could be passed on to them in school that way. Sure they were out of school now, but once classes were back in session at the beginning of the year they could be subject to the normal nasty gossip that kids could pass around in the halls.

The parents of their class mates were no doubt gossiping amongst themselves, with their darling little angels within earshot, and those sweet little innocent minds would go into school and start repeating what they've heard, dishing out cruel words and making nasty little threats. He'd seen the ridicule a student could endure at the hands of classmates. He's seen the heartless jokes played out, from mud being slung at them, to having their lockers ransacked and vicious graffiti spray painted on the interior of them.

He understood the need to get his girls away from the kind of embarrassment his own indiscretions had brought down on them. Of course when he asked her how long she was going to let them stay with her parents he hadn't expected her response. The girls were going now, and she would be joining them after the trial. They wouldn't be coming back, and he'd better not try to make contact with them. As far as they were concerned their father was dead. She had actually told them he was dead.

The ringing stopped before the answering machine could pick it up, and he was thankful. If it wasn't his wife he was sure it was his attorney, and he hadn't been all that much help for him as it was, though he hadn't heard from the man in a few days now. He preferred not to talk to anyone. He wished there was some way he could just crawl into his bed and stay there for eternity. He didn't want to face the world with his guilt, though he had already admitted to most of what he had done.

The phone rang out again, and he felt his insides twist up on him. He thought that maybe it was his mother. Maybe she had found some love left in her heart for him after all, the son who had never met her expectations, had always been a disappointment; maybe that didn't matter to her as much as she had led him to believe. Perhaps there was some hope that his mother, or maybe even his stiff necked father had realized that he had problems, not that he was such a bad person, but a sick person who needed help, and had needed help from the time he was young.

He sighed as his logical mind wiped that hope out completely. His parents weren't forgiving people. They weren't the type of people to admit that they had made mistakes with their children. How could they possibly be such bad parents when one son turned out so damned perfect and the other was such a disappointment to them? He had been nothing more than an object to despise and ridicule most of his life while his perfect brother had been showered with praise and promise.

Again the ringing stopped before the machine answered for him. He wasn't about to pick up the receiver. He wasn't about to subject himself to the hate that would be on the other end of the line, no matter who it was.

He looked at the material before him on the computer. He had been working up a need most of the day. He considered that he could very well go to his own bed; the cold, lonely bed left in his room, and do something about the urges building up inside of him. He closed the windows on the computer screen. He was bored as hell, and not having anything else to do was making it hard to resist the temptations his mind was furiously swirling around.

While the computer powered down he stood and stretched his stiff body. He hadn't bothered to look at the time on the computer before shutting it down; there was no real sense of time in his life right now. He found he gauged his days and nights by daylight or darkness. He liked it like that. He liked not knowing, or caring what time it was, or what day of the week it was. He didn't even know for certain just how close the New Year was, for all he knew it had already passed. He didn't give a fuck.

As he walked past the phone towards the hall that would lead him back to his bed, the bed that no longer held the warmth of his wife, the device screamed out another ring. He was startled again for a short moment, but kept on walking. If it was something he really needed to hear they would leave a message. He found his way to his room and started stripping out of the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd been sporting around the house, letting them drop carelessly to the floor. He carefully removed his glasses and set them down on the stand next to his bed. He couldn't see shit without them, and with the shades pulled and curtains drawn his room remained a deep, night time dark, so he was mostly blind as soon as his lenses were removed. He pulled the mess of blankets and sheets down the bed, out of his way and lay down on his back. He hadn't made the bed for quite a while now, and the tangle of bed clothes seemed to get in the way more often than not.

The phone stopped ringing, again, and he was relieved that he wouldn't have to concentrate so hard to block out the annoying sound. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander into another world, a sick fantasy that he was sure would get him another five years tacked onto his prison term if he ever admitted it to anyone. He thought about the pictures he'd been looking at on the computer and something in the back of his mind took control of his thoughts and his actions. He let his fantasy grab him and reality was lost for while.

He was almost finished, almost to the point that he could leave his fantasy world a little less stressed, when the sound of breaking glass filtered though the perverted thoughts he delved so deeply into. He didn't acknowledge it at first, he didn't want to. It was the sound of cupboard doors in his kitchen slamming shut that pulled him out with a fear so great that it overpowered the fantasy.

He shot up in the bed and quickly found his glasses. He tried to remember where he'd let his clothes fall. It wasn't as if he had to be careful about where his dirty clothes landed, with no wife or family around to monitor his habits. "Oh God, oh God, oh God…" He barely managed to get the breathless words out. Had someone just broke into his house? It was a Mercer, it had to be. They were there to kill him, to make him pay for what he'd done. He knew it, his life was over.

As miserable as he was though, he didn't want to die. He had fucked up his life, he had problems, but he wanted help. He truly did. No one cared, no one wanted to help him, they were all out t kill him. He found his pants and managed to pull them on in the dark room, though he was sure he had them on backwards, and wrong side out. He heard footsteps coming up the hall, and dropped to his hands and knees on the floor, crawling desperately to the other side of the bed, praying no one would see him from the doorway and assume he wasn't there.

He couldn't get under the bed, he was too large, but from his position he could see feet arrive at the doorway. They planted themselves there, still, and silent. The feet were attached to legs, of course, but he had no way of seeing who it was. He just knew he was dead. He was a dead man and no one would care. No one would give a fuck about his head being blown off, or his throat being cut.

His daughters already thought he was dead, they thought their Daddy was in heaven. Would he go to heaven? Would God understand the demon inside of him that forced its way out too strong for him to fight down? No, hell was his destination. He knew that. He was going to hell, and he was going there a damn sight quicker than he wanted. He didn't understand why there was no one in this world who cared about him. He had fought his sickness for his whole life, and now he was soon to be nothing more than an unpleasant memory. Would his mother cry at his graveside and regret rejecting her own son so soon before he was taken from this world or would all rejoice his justified murder as they had all rejoices Victor Sweet's convenient demise?

He could feel his bladder release as the feet started to move, towards the foot of the bed and stopped as the body attached to them sank down on the mattress, causing the springs underneath to groan and give way to the weight.

"You really shouldn't cower in the corner like that Jordan. It's not very manly." The gravely, hoarse texture of the voice seemed to suck the air out of the room. "Get up off the fucking floor, you look pathetic." It continued a moment later when Jordan hadn't moved. "Come on, man, show some fucking backbone."

Bradley Jordan rose slowly to peek out over the top edge of the mattress. His sweaty hands and forehead was an outward sign of the dread rising inside of him, not to mention the warm, wet sensation from the waist down. The man was dead. He had been shot by the Mercers and fell into the icy water of the pond. Jordan expected to find a decomposing corpse sitting on his bed, dripping putrid water all over the tangle of sheets. Instead he found himself staring into the face of a stranger.

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Craig didn't move from his spot resting into Bobby's chest. He heard the men in the kitchen talking more, but he blocked out the words. He didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to know any more facts about Adam Macks. The man was dead, that was all he needed to know. He didn't want to know about what to expect when he was forced against his will to talk to the District Attorney. He didn't care what he should expect. He wasn't going to talk to him. They could make him go, but they couldn't make him say a word.

He half noticed when Green thanked his brothers for the coffee, and stood, the chair under him scraping the floor, and saying he needed to be on his way. The man stopped next to Bobby who was still holding onto Craig, and he rested a hand on the boy's back. "Craig, I'm really sorry that it has to happen like this, I did all I could to stop it. You might not believe me right now, but if there was any other way to get Jordan for the shit he did, then we would."

Craig didn't respond to the man, he did his best to let his words pass over him, unheard, but he had heard them, and he'd heard the sincerity in his voice. He wanted to hate him for bringing this on him, but it wasn't Green's fault; just as he wanted to stay pissed at Bobby for making him go through with it, but he knew his brother had no choice either, and what he'd said made sense. It didn't make him feel any better though.

"Don't worry Green, he'll be fine." Bobby gave Craig a slight squeeze. "We'll make sure of that. No one can bring down a Mercer; it just takes us a little more time to pull our shit together sometimes."

Craig was sure he could hear Green chuckle softly behind him. "Well now, that's an understatement." He spoke in as cheerful a voice as any of them could at that moment.

"So, Wilber, come on, I'll walk you out." Jerry spoke a little louder than he needed to.

"Wilber," Angel cried out, not caring how it sounded to the police detective standing in their kitchen. "Jesus God Almighty, man, what was your Mama thinking? Wilber Green?"

Craig felt a little amused by the revelation and had to turn his head so that he could look up at the pained expression on the face of Wilber Green. He couldn't keep a small smile from coming out to show his own pleasure in the man's misery.

Green was looking at Angel. "It was my Grandfather's name if you must know. A very fine, upstanding man," He defended his own name.

"Couldn't you at least go by Will, or something normal?" Jack asked from his seat on the counter. "I mean, Wilber isn't so bad, as long as you never let anyone know about it."

"That Mercer logic at work again, I see." Green turned to look at Jack before he glanced back down at Craig. He gave the boy a pat on the back. "Well, I guess my humiliation is worth it, if it makes you smile just a little." He sounded as if he was being sarcastic, but he gave the boy a quick wink. "I'll be talking to you all later." He looked up at Bobby as he spoke the last part. "Sorry not all of it could be good news."

Bobby nodded his head. "Thanks, I do appreciate that Wilber. By the way, what was your middle name again? Humphrey?" He asked casually, as if it were already public knowledge what the man's full name was.

"Wilber Humphrey Green?" Jerry let out a roar of laughter as he walked on out of the kitchen. "Damn, man, I feel for you." He called out without looking back.

Green stared at Bobby for a long moment. "I know you're pissed, but do you really think I deserve this kind of treatment?" He let a smile slip out and turned and walked out of the kitchen, trailing Jerry's laughter as a guide towards the front door, talking as he walked away. "That was my other Grandfather's name."

Jack laughed, and Angel was repeating the full name, letting the words roll off his lips slowly, as if it would make a special sound if he said it enough.

Bobby let his arms unwrap from around his youngest brother and pulled him back just enough that he could look down at him. "You doin' any better?" He asked quietly.

Craig stared at Bobby, "Why can't you just tell them no?" He asked with a small voice.

"I already told you why." Bobby shook his head. "Look, if you get there and you can't talk, I don't know, maybe they won't push it. But you gotta try Craig. As hard as it might be, you gotta give it a shot, or that fucker ain't never gonna get what he deserves." He was using that tone again; the calm, slow voice that he used when he seemed to think Craig wasn't going to be able to function normally. "If you don't try, you are going to regret it later, and you know that."

Craig didn't try to argue. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. He wasn't about to tell Bobby he wasn't going to try, though he was planning on walking in, sitting down, and clamming up. That was one thing he knew he was good at, keeping quiet. It had been instilled in him from the time he was small. He knew how to ignore everything around him and block out the voices of people. He had been taught the hard way that you don't make noise, you don't tell anyone anything, and you keep it a secret. He couldn't break the rules now, even if the man who had taught him the rules was dead; he couldn't chance the consequences that would come from it.

Bobby let out a heavy breath. "Well, we don't have to worry about it this very second, right?" He asked Craig. "You look a little wore out. You think maybe you over did it this morning?" He asked.

Craig shook his head, though he could feel a dull ache starting to build up, right behind his forehead. He was sure it had nothing to do with the activity he'd participated in, it was the news that Green had brought with him. It was the knowledge of what was going to happen, and not wanting to have to face any of it.

If he had to be honest about it, he'd have to admit that there seemed to be something missing from the news of Adam's confirmed death. They still had to I.D. the body, and that would take time. What if it wasn't Adam's body they'd pulled out of the water? What if he was laying in wait, ready to trap him or his brothers somehow? What if he was close by right then, watching them, and planning something horrible out in his sick mind?

"Hey?" Bobby laughed as he rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Earth to Craig, are you in there?"

Craig pried his mind away from the 'what if' game. "What?"

"Why don't we get you your pills and let you take a break on the couch?" Bobby seemed to be repeating his statement.

Craig shrugged his shoulders. He didn't want his pills; he didn't want to take a nap, though that was exactly what Bobby was going to make him do. He didn't bother to argue; he didn't resist when Bobby got his pills and handed them to him one at a time, following each with water. He let Bobby slide his arm around him and walk him into the living room.

The man sat on the end of the couch next to the tree and put a pillow in his lap. Craig lay down without a word, and curled into a ball, facing the back of the couch, letting his head rest on the pillow, because as much as he hated to admit it, it did make him feel better knowing Bobby was right there. He let his eyes close and ignored the sounds of Jack and Angel's voices as they returned to finish their game. He heard Jerry come back in as well, and he knew they would be talking about the impending meeting with the District Attorney; they would all be talking about him while he slept. He didn't care. He blocked them out, and let himself give into the drugs that were making him drowsy. He could feel the dull aching behind his forehead starting to ease off, and then he fell asleep.

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Bobby was thankful that Craig seemed to fall into a good sleep fairly quick. Jerry started to ask some questions, but Bobby shook his head at him and pointed to Craig. "Not now." He kept his voice quiet.

Jerry nodded his head as if he understood. Bobby didn't want Craig anywhere near any talk about what was about to happen, or what he was worried about. He was concerned about the kid having to give a statement, but he was sure he could make it through that if it was handled right. He was gonna make sure it was handled right. To hell with someone telling him that he couldn't go in with Craig. He wasn't gonna make the kid face any of that shit alone.

He sighed heavily and looked at the television screen displaying the game Angel and Jack were playing. He didn't really care about watching the game, but it gave his mind a chance to drift. He had felt relieved to hear they found a body in that pond. He had felt a weight lift off of him when Green had shared that bit of news.

But now there was something stabbing at the back of his mind. Maybe it was Craig's reaction to having to talk to anyone else about what Jordan had done to him. He was sure Craig was more afraid of being asked about Macks and the shit that fucker had done to him than anything Jordan had done, and it seemed the kid shouldn't be that terrified of a dead man. He was thinking back to the day before, when Craig had been desperately begging him to hold onto him, crying out to him about Macks always coming back. He always came back. The kid believed the man could come back from the dead.

Craig still believed Macks was going to be coming back, though he hadn't said that, or even hinted at it in the kitchen, when the news had been announced to him about the body. Bobby could sense it in him. Hell, maybe Craig didn't really know he felt it; he wasn't acting as if he was aware of his own insight. The boy doubted the body in the pond was Adam Macks, and he could be right about that, there hadn't been a positive I.D. yet. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe Adam Macks wasn't dead after all, and until he heard that there had been a positive match to DNA, or something that confirmed it and put an end to the fear for the kid, he was going to keep his guard up, keep the kid close, and make sure no one got close to him. He was going to deal with it as if Macks was alive and on the hunt for the kid.


	28. Chapter 28

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! Thanks to all for reading, and for the wonderful reviewers, you guys are the greatest!

Let me know about this one :)

Legal stuff still counts...

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**Chapter 28: Old Habits**

Craig woke up after nearly two hours. He wasn't surprised to find he was alone in the room. He was sure as soon as he was asleep his brothers had all gathered in another room to talk about the whole dead Adam Mack/have to talk to the District Attorney thing. He sat up and looked at the T.V. It was tuned to a movie, but the volume was turned down pretty low, for a change. He strained his ears to listen for any sounds from his brothers, trying to pinpoint where they might be in the house. He couldn't hear a sound. He didn't want his mind to have the chance to think about Green's visit. He didn't want to dwell on the news that had been shared, and he damn sure didn't want to think about the impending visit he was going to have to make to the District Attorney.

He got up and quickly stepped to the desk. He wanted to draw, he needed to. If he could get some of it out of his head maybe he could deal with it all a little better. He pulled out the sketch pad and charcoal pencil he'd been using and returned to the couch. He sat on the end next to the Christmas tree, with his feet propped up on the coffee table, using his legs to support the pad while he flipped through the pages to the first blank page of paper. He knew he wasn't supposed to be drawing unless Bobby was with him; that was one of Bobby's new rules. He didn't care he didn't want Bobby to see the pictures in his head right then. He needed to get his fears and his thoughts out on paper, like he was used to. It was easier than trying to talk about any of them.

As soon as the tip of the pencil hit the paper his hand was moving. He wasn't sure exactly what was escaping his mind and emptying out onto the paper. It slowly took on the appearance of a small room, with two people standing over a small boy at a table, a piece of paper in the boy's hands, with a picture of a horrific scene roughly drawn out on it. He could remember that 'visit'. He had been asked questions and pushed to say things that he didn't want to say. Things that he'd been programmed not to say, to anyone. The forms hovering over the boy didn't really take on much detail. He couldn't remember if they had been men or women or if they had been nice or mean. That much detail was lost on him. He'd been six years old, and he had been in a hospital for a long time before the talk in the small room. He only knew that he'd been scared, and alone, and no matter what these people said it would have frightened him. He had wanted his mother. Not Evelyn, he hadn't met her yet, she hadn't come into his life to save him from the hell the system wanted to drop him into.

It didn't make sense to him then, and it didn't make sense to him now. How could so many adults think that a severely traumatized child of six could answer their questions? How could they take that child and drop him into a foster home where there was little love passed down? They had known about his past, but he had been treated like some stray pet. They may as well have been telling him to sit and roll over on command, it amounted to the same thing. No noise was allowed, no messes. His mind went from one memory to the next with lightening speed. His hand turned the page without any conscious thought behind the action. He drew the pictures of the foster home that his mind brought up in front of his eyes. The small room that had been crowded and hot with so may children crammed into it. The look on the man's face when he was angry took form on the page. Hell, he didn't even remember his name now, he only knew he was a drunk, and he had hit him hard enough to bring back the memories of Adam Macks and the things he had done to him.

He was on his third picture when Bobby walked into the room carrying a bowl in his hands. The man stopped in the doorway and looked at him. "What the hell are you doing?" He asked.

Craig's body stiffened at the sound of Bobby's voice. He wasn't supposed to be drawing unless Bobby was there with him; Bobby would make him talk about the pictures and explain what they were; what memories in his head were working their way out. He hadn't forgotten that little fact, he had just chosen to ignore it. Not that he would admit that to his brother. He looked up at the man and swallowed hard. "I wanted to draw." He muttered.

Bobby stared at him for a long moment. "Remember what I said before? You can draw, but you gotta show me the pictures." He walked across the room to the couch and sat down, carefully setting the bowl on the coffee table. "I brought you some ice cream." He spoke calmly, almost sounding happy. "I thought I was going to have to wake you up and a bribe to get you awake seemed like a good idea."

The cheerful sound of Bobby's voice almost brought on guilt for his initial plan to hide the pictures from him and keep them his secret. Almost, but not quite, he felt more irritated that he'd been interrupted. He looked down at the ice cream on the table. It did look good, vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup drizzled over it and pooling under it. If he surrendered his pad to Bobby he could pick up the bowl and lose his self it that for a short time. But that would mean having to explain the pictures to his brother. He looked over at Bobby who was looking at him. "I don't want you to look at them." He spoke quietly, knowing damn good and well that Bobby was waiting for him to hand over the sketch pad.

"Don't make me take it from you Craig." Bobby still seemed calm, and he didn't look pissed.

"Bobby, please? I don't want…" He stopped himself before he finished his own thought. He should have known better than to try to talk his way out of sharing his thoughts and memories. Pictures were safe, and they were his. He didn't understand why Bobby had to see them all. Not all of them were pictures of Adam Macks, or what the man had done to him.

Bobby held his hand out without saying a word. Craig knew he didn't have a choice and he carefully picked the pad up off of his legs and passed it onto Bobby.

"Who the hell is this?" Bobby looked down at the angry face staring back at him.

Craig picked up the ice cream and settled back into the couch, trying to ignore the question.

Bobby looked over at him. "Who is it Craig?" His voice was quiet. He hadn't expected a new face in the book, the boy knew that.

"My foster father," Craig muttered and stirred the chocolate syrup around a little bit in the bowl, spooning it up and letting it run down the ice cream.

"Why does he look so pissed?" Bobby had a scowl crossing his face, looking confused.

"Because everyone was always pissed at me," Craig muttered without looking over to Bobby, not wanting to see the man's face. "He was drunk a lot, and he was always pissed." He added the last part, hoping his brother wouldn't ask any more questions about the man.

Bobby stared at the sketch for a few moments more before pulling the previous page back to rest in front of him, examining the view of a bedroom that was new to him, "What about this one?" He glanced over at Craig.

"That was the room at the foster home." Craig shrugged his shoulders without really looking over. He knew what pictures he'd drawn, it wasn't as if he had to look at them to know which one Bobby was asking about.

Bobby seemed to be thinking hard. "How long were you in this foster home?" He asked.

Craig shrugged his shoulders again. "I don't know." He managed to spoon some of the ice cream into his mouth, making sure the small bit of ice cream was swimming in an enormous spoonful of chocolate. "Not long I guess."

"What happened there?" Bobby pushed.

"I got mad and bit the guy." Craig muttered. "I guess I scratched him up pretty good too."

Bobby let out a snort. "Sounds like you had some fight in you."

"He was hitting me, and I guess I fought him back." Craig was surprised at how easy it was coming for him. "I don't remember it, I blacked out. They called it a flashback." He informed. He thought that maybe having talked to Jack about some of this was making it easier to talk to Bobby. Or maybe because he was feeling more at ease around Bobby was helping him say the words. Of course what had happened at the foster home was nothing compared to what had happened with Adam, or Sweet, and since he'd talked to Bobby about that, maybe that made it easier. It didn't matter how easy it was though, he didn't want to talk about it, and it was irritating that Bobby was making him.

Bobby turned the page and looked at the picture of the small child sitting at the table with a piece of paper in front of him, and two large, intimidating people hovering above. The expressions on the faces of the large figures didn't reveal any type of gender, but they showed that they weren't very patient, and the look on the boy's face reflected the fear Craig was feeling inside as he had cowered in the chair, doing his best to answer the questions that were being thrown at him.

Bobby drew in a deep breath and the sigh that followed was loud. "You want to explain this one to me? Because I can guess what this is, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"They wanted to know what Adam did to Lydia." Craig muttered without looking over at the man or the paper he was holding. "They gave me paper and told me to draw it."

Bobby nodded his head slightly; Craig could see it out of the corner of his eye. "I take it one of these men was the District Attorney." He commented.

Craig shrugged his shoulders again. "I don't know who they were." He muttered. "But they weren't very nice. I think one of them said they were the District Attorney, or maybe from his office. They kept asking me questions."

"Is this you?" Bobby pointed to area of the page where Craig knew the small child was sitting at the table. "Damn, it looks like you." He spoke quietly. "And this kid here, he looks like he's scared shitless."

Craig didn't look over. "They yelled." He shrugged his shoulders. "And they told me that if I didn't tell them everything I would have to go back to live with Adam."

Bobby checked the next page to make sure there were no more new drawings to question. "Craig, it's not going to be like that, not this time."

Craig drew in a deep break, and was surprised at how his own action quivered. He knew if they kept talking about it he was going to lose a battle of the tears, again, and he didn't want to cry anymore. He had cried more in the past month than he cared to admit, even to himself. He was tired of it. He was tired of battling the feelings that kept surging up from inside of him. "You won't be there with me." He muttered. "They'll be able to do and say whatever they want to."

Bobby shook his head. "I called Ma's lawyer while you were sleeping, her boyfriend, Mr. Bradford. He doesn't specialize in this kind of law, but I wanted to ask him about whether they could keep me out, because I don't want you going in there without me. He said they can, but he can go in with you. Would that make you feel any better? He can make sure that I can stay close, so that if you need me, I can be right there. He won't let them say anything out of line, or talk to you in any way that will make you feel intimidated. What do you think?"

Craig looked up at Bobby. It did sound better than going in alone, with two strangers. "Okay." He muttered. He would still prefer to have Bobby with him, but at least he wouldn't feel completely alone. If he could have it his way, he wouldn't be going at all.

"Good." Bobby looked back down at the sketch pad. "Do you want to draw any more right now?"

Craig shook his head slowly. Yes he did want to draw, but he didn't want to talk about his sketches. He wanted to be able to do what he was used to doing, and that was to get the memories out of his head and forget them. Bobby wouldn't let him do that. He knew it wasn't the best way to handle any of the battles that were waging inside of him, but it was the easy way, the way he knew, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to do it Bobby's way.

"Jeremiah took Angel and Jack around to his office. He's going to get them set up with some employment. After the beginning of the year he's going to get his project up and running full swing. He's holding some open interviews tomorrow, and he's advertised it in the paper, so he's going to need some people in there with him tomorrow. If the D.A. calls to set up a time, once that's all out of the way, we'll just go down there with them and kill some time watching Angel and Jack act like they know what the fuck their doing." Bobby laughed, trying to joke a little. Apparently he thought it would help Craig feel more at ease, but it didn't. It only made the boy tense up inside.

Craig didn't really care what his brothers were planning. He didn't care about Jerry's project, or what was going to happen with it. He couldn't help but feel as if all of the problems that had been bombarding the Mercer family started with Jerry's redevelopment project, and he wished deep down that it would just go away. He didn't blame Jerry, or at least he didn't think he did. But he didn't want to know about the plans for the project. He didn't want to be a part of it, and he sure as hell didn't want to be around any of it. He looked at Bobby and almost told him what he was thinking, but he bit back on the words.

Bobby seemed to know there was something more on his mind, and he let his eyebrows rise slightly as if he were waiting for Craig to speak.

Craig looked back down at his ice cream and stirred at the chocolate a little more. It was starting to mix in with the partially melting frozen treat, making swirls of white and dark brown as it started to blend together. His first initial taste had been great, but now he didn't think he could take another mouthful. His gut was twisting around with the thoughts about the D.A. and his mother, and Jerry's project.

"You know, I can't do much to help if you don't talk to me. What are you thinking about that you won't say to me?" Bobby rested his head back slightly as he spoke in a quiet, slow voice.

Craig didn't look up. "Nothing," He lied.

Bobby waited a few more seconds and then stood. "Okay, I'm putting this up, and if you want it, you come to me for it." Bobby held up the sketch pad.

Craig's eyes shot up to the man now. "Why?" He didn't like that Bobby was taking his pad. It was his, and it wasn't fair that he not be able to get to it when he wanted it.

"Because I don't want you sneaking around and drawing in it without me knowing it, I already told you before how it was going to be. If you want to draw, that's fine, but someone is going to be sitting next to you, and you are going to explain every picture to which ever brother that might happen to be." Bobby didn't sound angry as he walked towards the dining room, but the words ripped through the teen like a hot knife.

"That's stupid." Craig cried out. "You can't tell me when I can or can't draw, that's not fair." He could feel an anger burning deep inside and he tried to hold it in, but it wasn't working very well. "You can't keep me from drawing, if you won't give me that sketch pad I'll just get another one. I did get some for Christmas, remember?" His tone was stiff, he could feel it, and even though he cared, he didn't care that he cared. He was feeling the same urge inside of him to piss off Bobby that had been hitting him in waves that entire week. He hadn't expected it. He'd thought he had gotten over that when he'd had his meltdown the day before, but now it was back, and if he didn't know any better it was stronger than ever. Just as before he had no reason as to why he felt it, or what he thought it was going to accomplish, but he wanted to piss his brother off.

Bobby stopped in his tracks, right in the doorway leading to the dining room. He didn't turn around, at first. He seemed to be waiting for something, or expecting Craig to say more.

Craig looked back down to his ice cream and fell silent. He was waiting for Bobby to say something himself, or walk away. Whichever the man did, Craig knew it would just irritate him more.

Bobby let out a loud sigh, and finally turned slowly to look at him. "I ain't gonna threaten to beat your ass if you don't listen to me Craig. I ain't gonna beat your ass, I'll just sit your ass in a fucking corner and leave you there for an hour. No television, no games, nothin'. So don't start the attitude. You got shit on your mind, I'll do all I can to help, but you ain't gonna start talking to me or anyone in this house like that again. I won't have it." His voice was quiet, and though Craig was concentrating on his ice cream and the way it was swirling around in his chocolate he could feel Bobby's eyes boring into him hard.

"Now, you want to tell me what you really want to say or are we gonna have one of the temper tantrums that you have become so good at throwing with no warning?" Bobby stepped slowly back towards the couch as he spoke. He stopped on the other side of the coffee table. "Now what's going through your head that you don't want to talk about?"

Craig felt hot tears pooling in his eyes. "I don't know." He was being honest. He didn't know what he wanted to say, and Bobby pushing him was only going to make it worse, he was feeling more agitated now. He was starting to fill up with the resentment and the fear that had stalked him from that first day he'd been home. It had been gone for a while, but it was starting to build back up. It was as if the day before had never happened, and he was pissed that he couldn't feel the same as he'd felt earlier that morning when they'd been out in the street playing.

"You're pissed because of the whole District Attorney thing, right? You're upset about that and you can't say it?" Bobby asked. "You were thinking that if you could do what you usually do, draw the shit in your head that's bothering you, and that you could get over feeling like that, right? Well it ain't gonna happen Craig, you just gotta feel it for however long it's gonna last, and you gotta deal with it. You can't hide from it, I ain't gonna let you hide from any of it any more. You got that?"

Craig felt the anger building more, but he held it in. "Sorry." He muttered, still not looking up.

"You aren't going to feel any better until you tell someone what you're feeling and why Craig. I ain't gonna push it, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you talk to me like you were talking to me before. I ain't gonna have it. So if you ain't gonna be honest with me, and talk to me, then I don't want to hear anything from you. No smart assed remarks, no attitude. It's as simple as that. You have to make that choice yourself." Bobby turned away again, and Craig bit at the inside of his mouth to keep from saying anything more as he brother left the room with his paper. He looked down at the charcoal pencil that was still resting in his lap. He would find a way to draw, whether Bobby liked it or not.


	29. Chapter 29

Believe it or not I have another chapter ready to go up after this one, so if I get a lot of reviews I might post it a little later this afternoon :)

Thanks for reading, and as always let me know what you think!

Legal stuff still counts...

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**Chapter 29: Pushing The Limits**

The look on Jordan's face was unforgettable. Macks had to admit, Jones was playing this one out pretty damn good. He had the man pissing his pants and cowering in the corner. He couldn't have asked for a better way to brighten his dreary day. After spending half the day behind the wheel he needed something to brighten his spirits and this was doing just that. "Jordan, get the fuck up off the floor." Macks had to put his own self into that statement, he couldn't resist, but he managed to keep his voice quiet; it seemed to have a better effect on people that way, with the gravely texture it held and the mean sound that already accompanied it, the quiet level seemed to magnify the threat it held.

Jordan looked confused, and obviously the piss had been scared right out of him. "Who the hell are you?" He asked with a squeak to his words. A heavy wheezing seemed to take over, as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "What do you want? Who sent you?" He pulled back until his back was pressed into the wall, but he didn't make a move to drag his sorry ass to his feet.

"Who do you think sent me?" Jones' voice, though still quiet, seemed to soften slightly and lose part of the hoarseness to it.

"Look, I didn't do anything to that kid. I don't care what the Mercers told you, I didn't…" Jordan started to spit the words out in broken sobs.

Jones laughed, causing the man to quiet, "Who the fuck you think you're talking to Jordan?" He shook his head and pulled up from the bed, turning to face the sniveling coward. "You fucked him good. You made him suck on you until you couldn't hold it anymore, and then threw him on the floor and shoved up into him hard enough to rip and tear pieces of him away, I watched you do it. You ain't got no fucking balls at all do you, you spineless pig?" His voice picked up strength as Macks decided to take control of the situation; it would be much more fun that way. Jones had a way of fucking too many things up. "You could at least admit just what the fuck you are. You hide from it, and you're ashamed of it, and you have cheated yourself most of your life because of that."

"M-M-Macks," Jordan stuttered out what was meant to be a question, and it sounded so fucking pathetic that Macks had to laugh.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Jordan?" Macks managed to get the words out after he'd laughed enough to release the amusement the man was causing him. "You worried I'm gonna put a fucking bullet in your head for spilling your guts to the cops?" He did pull his gun out of his coat pocket; what the hell, it seemed like a good lead in to introduce his weapon to the man.

"I didn't tell the cops shit." Jordan's voice squeaked again.

"I told you to get your ass up off the fucking floor. Don't make me tell you that again." Macks waved the gun around a little, but it was just for show. Hell, it was fun seeing just how scared the man in front of him truly was.

A foul odor started to fill the air, and Macks nearly gagged. "Good God, what the hell, did you just shit yourself Jordan?" He cried out and did his best not to breathe in too deeply. "Shit, go clean yourself up and meet me in the kitchen. I ain't gonna fucking shoot you, at least not yet, I need your ass." He turned and walked out as quickly as he could, heading to the kitchen. "I need some fucking food, where is your food? Your cupboards are practically bare." He didn't wait for an answer, he kept walking.

He started going through the refrigerator, and found some hamburger that had an odd color to it and some eggs. He opened the hamburger and took a whiff of it to be sure it was good. He tossed it to the counter and the found the pans after checking several doors. He was sure he heard the shower running just as he started the hamburger to frying.

Hell, he wasn't worried about Jordan making any kind of run for it, it's not like he would get far with that fucking device strapped around his ankle. He was more worried about the idiot having a heart attack the way he was acting, pissing and shitting himself. He needed him though; he needed a place to stay, a roof over his head, and someone to do what the fuck he was told. He could put Jordan to work making some phone calls, not that the man would be too thrilled with the calls he was going to be making, but he'd get over it. If he behaved, he might even let him live to experience his first fuck in prison. He had a real treat coming to him, being someone else's bitch.

Maybe Macks would even take pity on him and show him how a good bitch acts, teach him a few of the tricks that he learned when he was behind the bars, Jordan might manage to survive if he knew what the fuck to do. Some of those tricks he was planning on teaching his son, when he finally had him back with him, where he belonged. He smiled at the thought. He would have his son back within the next two days, and he'd make sure this time that no one came to steal him away.

He was tired of his property being ripped out of his hands. He was going to take out the Mercers, one by one, or all at once, it didn't matter. They were going to die. He'd heard they liked to play with gasoline, and fire. He laughed as the wheels of his mind started turning. He liked the idea that was forming. It was the answer he'd been wracking his brains to come up with most of the drive back to Detroit; how to take the Mercers out of the picture so they couldn't come after the kid once Macks or Jones had his hands on him.

Jordan stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes before the hamburgers and eggs were done. He still looked terrified, his eyes wide, and his mouth hanging half open. He looked as if he were looking at ghost, or a monster. He kept his distance from the stranger cooking at his stove, and slid down the counter near the sink. "Who are you, really?" He asked.

Macks drew in a deep breath and turned and looked at the coward by the sink. "Do we really need to do this again?" He asked.

Jordan looked as if he were about to lose his bladder again, his mouth opened and moved as if he were talking, but no sound came out.

"Okay, let's properly introduce you to the new me." Macks smiled and held a hand out, letting Jones' voice take over, the softer pitch level tone did seemed to take on a whole new personality that was more inviting to people. "The name is Jeff Jones." He let a friendly smile slide over his mouth and his eyes seemed to change from cold to warm in an instant.

Jordan stared at him as if he had lost his mind, but he held his hand out to accept the handshake that was being offered. "How the hell did you manage this?"

"Don't worry about how, just worry about telling me the fucking truth about a few things while we eat." Jones stuck around to make the comment. "Have a seat Bradley. I know you've been under a lot of stress. You need to relax and eat, and we can work out the details of how both of us are going to get out of this little mess the Mercers have brought down on us." He smiled again before turning back to the stove. "We need to get some more food."

Jordan slowly stepped over to the table and sat down. He seemed to be taking it all in. He was slow, but damn, once he got it, he really did get it. Jones laughed at the thought. "Where is the bread?" He asked while he grabbed a clean plate from the drainer and started dishing the fried hamburgers and eggs out onto it.

"I, I'm out of bread." Jordan spoke quietly, almost sounding as if this wasn't the conversation he'd been expecting.

"Well, we'll just have to eat these with forks then. I can't wait, I'm hungry." Jones turned to the table and set the plate down. "I'll have to go to the store later and stock up on what we're gonna need. You haven't got any beer?" He asked.

Jordan shook his head while he watched the man walk to cabinet and get out some plates, the reach for the drawer containing the silverware.

"No beer, well, that's okay, I'll stop and pick up some whiskey when I go out." Jones sat down and handed Jordan his plate and fork. "Well come on, dig in. You need to keep your strength up Brad. Good grief, you look like you've lost a good twenty pounds." Jones laughed as he pulled two eggs and one of the burgers to his plate. "I heard that your wife left you, took the little kiddies and just up and abandoned you in your most desperate hour." He shook his head. "Damn bitch. We should choke the fucking life out of her. What do you think?" He looked at Jordan with the most sincere expression any man could wear. "I can do that for you. You know that? I have no problems killing her if you want me to. Of course that means your little girls will have no mommy. I guess I'd have to do away with them too. I mean, I'd hate to put those precious little souls through the hell of losing their mommy."

Jordan looked intrigued by the offer until Jones mentioned his daughters. Hell, Jones knew the man would have taken him up on the offer, if he hadn't included the sweet, innocent daughters. The sorry shit really did love them. He truly wished he hadn't had to add the part about the girls, but Macks was in there, pushing him to make it good, and he knew if he didn't make Macks happy, the man would just come out and take over again. As good as Macks' intentions, he just wasn't all that good with people, not like Jones.

"You can't hurt my daughters, they haven't done anything wrong." Jordan cried out. "Please, don't hurt them. I'll do whatever you tell me to, but please, you can't hurt them." There were actually tears in the man's eyes. "Kill me, you have every right to kill me, I told the cops everything. I thought you were dead, I didn't know you were alive." He started rambling on about how he was in a load of shit right then, no family to back him up, his daughters had been taken from him, his own parents considered him dead. His rambling turned into sobbing, as if the person on the opposite side of the table really cared.

Jones sat back in his chair and ate his food while Jordan unloaded, and cried and complained about the situation Macks had gotten him into. When it seemed the man was finally finished, Jones swallowed the food that was in his mouth and put down his fork. "Do you feel better?" He asked.

Jordan dropped his face into his hands. "Oh God, I don't know what to do." His body seemed to be wracked with sobs.

"Pull your shit together Brad, my boy. I'll make sure it's all good." Jones grinned. "I only need for you to make sure no one finds out I'm here, and I need to you to do a few things for me. As long as you do what you're told, your sweet little girls will be just fine. Now eat your food before it gets cold."

Jordan let his hands fall and looked across the table at the man, almost as if the words that had been spoken had been lost on him. He did nod his head, a sign perhaps that Jones' words had penetrated the emotions. He picked up his fork and took a small bite of the eggs.

"No more fucking lying Brad. I know you talked to the cops. It's alright; I understand you thought I was dead. You wouldn't have a said anything if you'd known I was alive, I get that. But don't lie to me. Don't piss me off by telling me tall tales and untruths." Jones smiled as he took another bite of his burger. "Now, the first thing we need to do is give good old Jessup a call. I need to let him know I'm back, and I'm in control."

* * *

Craig sat on the couch, staring down at the melting ice cream and chocolate syrup, stirring the swirls around while he waited for Bobby to come back in. He hadn't wasted any time slipping the charcoal pencil in his shirt. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage to get some paper, and even more challenging was having the chance to draw without getting caught. He wasn't even sure what it was that he felt he needed to draw; he only knew that he didn't want to have to talk about anything he drew, no matter what it might be. He should be able to have some things that were his and only his; thoughts and memories that he didn't have to share.

Bobby walked back in after several minutes, his hands empty. Craig wasn't sure where in the kitchen his brother had hidden his pad, but he couldn't help but think that if he had a chance he could probably find it. There weren't too many places in the kitchen that it could be stashed.

Bobby stopped on the other side of the coffee table, just as he had before, and looked down at the boy. Craig could feel his stare. He didn't look up or say anything. He was sure if he opened his mouth he would say something that he would regret.

Bobby had told him that he didn't want to hear anything from him if he was going to give him an attitude, and though he knew he shouldn't feel the urge to mouth off, it was there, and he wanted more than anything to unload on his brother. He was being unfair, and he wasn't helping matters at all. Just standing over him, looking down on him was making it worse.

"Are you going to eat that ice cream or not?" Bobby asked the question casually.

Craig knew he needed to answer his brother, he knew he needed to give the bowl up to him and let him take it away. He chose instead to sit on the couch and continue to stir around what was quickly becoming a mess in the bowl and pretend he hadn't heard Bobby speak.

Bobby gave him a few moments before walking around the table and reaching for the bowl. He took it out of Craig's hands and set it on the table. Craig felt his insides freeze as Bobby grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. "The silent treatment counts as an attitude Craig. I don't want to hear the smart remarks, but when I ask you a question I expect an answer." He pulled him into the dining room, grabbed a chair and pulled it from the table. He set the chair in the corner next to the doorway, facing the small area where the two walls met. "You just got what Jerry calls a time out." He kept his voice even, though it sounded slightly strained. "He said this is what he does with the girls. They get five or ten minutes. I figure you're older, you get a fucking hour. You don't move from that spot or say a word. You move or make a sound and I'm adding time to it. You got that?" He pulled Craig to the chair and dropped him down into it.

"I'm not five years old; you can't give me a 'time out'." Craig couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, and he really didn't care. He started to stand as soon as Bobby let go of him.

"You don' think so? You're acting like a five year old Craig. I ain't gonna put up with it. You keep your ass on that chair." Bobby didn't give him the chance to get all the way onto his feet. His hands planted on the boy's shoulders and pushed him back down. "Don't get back up Craig. I don't want to be an ass with you, but I ain't gonna let you turn the shit that's bugging you into being pissed off and then hide from it. It ain't gonna happen." Bobby's voice was nowhere near as calm as it had been just minutes before. "You want to talk about what's bugging you? I'm willing to listen to that. If not, then you are sitting your ass right there and keeping quiet. Got that?"

"This is stupid. You're fucking stupid." Craig muttered, not able to stop the words before they were out, though he knew they sounded more like something a five year old would say. He was being treated like a five year old though, being put in a corner. He didn't mean the words, but at the same time he was feeling more pissed at Bobby now than ever. "I hate you. You've got no right treating me like a little kid. You can't tell me what I can or can't do." He tried once more to stand, but this time Bobby didn't push him back down into the chair like he was expecting him to. What came next was exactly what he had gotten from Evelyn Mercer the one time he'd talk to her out of line and tested her limits.


	30. Chapter 30

Thanks to all for reading, and special thanks to those who reviewed :)

Still don't own, still make no money.

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**Chapter 30: Ivory Clean**

Craig looked up at the expression on Bobby's face. He was sure he'd pushed him too far. He was sure he was going to blow up now and do what he always did. He was about to get his ass beat, it was what he'd come to expect from his brother. Though he knew it was coming he still felt like pushing him more. He wanted Bobby to give him his sketch pad, he wanted him to leave him a lone for a little while with paper and pencil so that he could empty out the confusion that was rebuilding. The protective walls were going back up, and he knew it, but he didn't care. "Just leave me the fuck alone! I don't want to have to look at you let alone listen to you." He couldn't stop the words, and he could hear the anger that was weaved throughout them. It was stonger than he'd realized. It was if there was a force behind his confusion and anger that was pushing it out, he coudn't stop it.

Bobby snatched up his arm and gave him a hard jerk towards the kitchen. It didn't make any sense for Bobby to take him to the kitchen to beat his ass, he would have done that right there in the dining room, so his brother wasn't going to follow his old routine, and that threw him off a little, mentally. He felt his resolve weaken as he tried to figure out what Bobby was planning to do with him. He hadn't expected to be pulled to the kitchen sink, but he didn't fight it. He had no idea what Bobby was doing, but it couldn't be anywhere near as bad as sitting him in a corner like a small child. He wasn't a small child, and he was tired of being treated like one.

The small voice that seemed to talk to him in the back of his mind crept in and reminded him that he had been acting like a small child most of the time since his brothers had been home. He had welcomed Bobby's control just the day before. Once he had unloaded all of the fears and anger that had been tearing at him from the inside, he had welcomed it, and felt comforted by it. He needed to have some kind of say in his own life though; it wasn't fair that he couldn't manage any part of his life at all. His brother had all of the control. The cops had all of the control, and the District Attorney apparently had even more control over him than his own brother. It made him feel more and more like Adam was hovering over him, directing his every move, thinking his every thought.

He understood why he was feeling so pissed, or at least he thought he had an understanding at that moment. He was tired of not having any say about what he did or didn't do. He couldn't deal with his own problems the way he wanted to, he couldn't pick up a piece of paper and draw the way he wanted to. How many fourteen year olds were forbidden to draw a lousy picture without someone looming above him? Bobby was in charge of everything about him, and he hated it. He needed some freedom, and some time to be alone with his own thoughts and feeling. He needed to be able to make some decisions for himself and have some say in what he did to try to deal with the emotions that were starting surge inside of him again.

He didn't try to pull away from Bobby when the man opened the door under the sink and reached in. When he drew his hand back holding onto a bar of Ivory soap still wrapped up in the paper, Craig knew what was coming. "Ma went through quite a few bars on me, I guess you need to be introduced to what 'Ivory Clean' means. " Bobby's voice was stiff. He wasn't being gentle as he slid his hands under Craig's arms and lifted him onto the counter. "You ever had your mouth washed out with soap Craig? Did you ever talk like that to Ma? Because I know she wouldn't have put up with it." He asked as he tossed the wrapper onto the counter and held the soap up in front of the boy's face.

"Yes." Craig admitted weakly before he could stop himself, "Once." His mind was remembering the one time Evelyn had made him sit in that very spot on the counter and hold a bar of soap in his mouth for five minutes. It had cured him of cussing, at least around her. He stared at the soap and remembered how he'd broken down with Evelyn, having to hold the bar of soap in his mouth, and feeling sick to his stomach. "I'm sorry. " He muttered, feeling the anger and the confusion battling each other for control inside of him now.

"Ain't gonna work on me Craig." Bobby shook his head. "Five minutes with the soap for saying what you just said to me, and then two hours in the corner. Then you are going to eat your dinner. After you wash the dishes you are going to sit at that dining room table and tell me exactly what your problem is. I can guess at a lot of things here, but unless you tell me, I can't do anything to help. Can't you understand that?" Bobby's voice was loud and strained and tense, but even with all of that it wasn't angry.

"I didn't mean it." Craig tried to speak. "I'm sorry..."

"No. You don't get away with saying mean things to me, or anyone else in your family. You didn't like it this morning when Jack was in a pissy mood and took it out on you. Well no one else likes it when you act the same way. So now you have to face the consequences, and then we'll work it out so it won't happen again. Open up your mouth." Bobby stared at him hard.

Craig suddenly felt the anger inside of him deflate, and he felt like bawling like a small child. That was why he couldn't have any say in what he did or didn't do, he wasn't sure what he was thinking or feeling from one minute to the next. He opened his mouth and let Bobby push the soap in. He squeezed his eyes closed as the taste of Ivory seemed to sting at his tongue and coat the inside of his mouth instantly. He felt the gag reflex try to kick in, but held it back. His mind tried to use the feel of the object in his mouth as a doorway to other memories, but he fought it down and did his best to block it out. He was going to have to talk about it with total strangers, and he'd have to think about it then, he didn't want to think about it now.

He felt the tears running down his face, but he didn't reach up to wipe them away. The urge to try to push Bobby away and get the soap out of his mouth would be too much to resist if he brought his hands into range of his brother's hand holding the soap in place. He couldn't stop the tears, in fact they seemed to be increasing and he couldn't stop them from getting stronger. He remembered the similar feeling he'd experienced with Evelyn. He hadn't meant to get her so upset with him that she had to slide the soap into his mouth, and he felt terrible that she was angry with him. She had never been that upset with him before and he hadn't handled it very well then.

He suddenly felt bad that he'd made Bobby so angry; that he'd wanted to make Bobby angry He felt guilty for not being able to hold it in like he should have. It wasn't Bobby's fault, but he'd never thought his brother would let someone else make him talk about the things that Jordan had done to him. He wanted Bobby to fix it. He wanted him to fix the confusion inside of him. He had been angry that Bobby wouldn't let him take care of himself in any way, but now he yearned for his brother to be in charge, he wanted him to make it all stop. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother. The man didn't look angry and he didn't look as if he were going to lose his temper either. Bobby looked him in the eyes and seemed to see what he was feeling. An expression crossed his face that Craig couldn't read and the man slowly pulled the soap out.

"That's not five minutes, but I think you get the idea, right?" Bobby asked quietly.

Craig nodded his head and wished at that moment that he could rinse out his mouth. He was afraid to try to talk afraid he would gag and try to throw up.

Bobby nodded his head. "You can use water." He stepped back, taking Craig's arm and pulling him down from the counter. He got a glass out of the cupboard and handed it to the boy.

Craig filled the glass with water at the sink and rinsed his mouth out, several times. His mind brought back the way Evelyn had put her arms around him and held onto him after she'd done the exact same thing several years back, telling him she loved him, but never to talk to her that way again. It had helped him then to know that she still loved him, despite having fed him soap to clean out his dirty mouth.

"You won't get all of it out, but that'll remind you of what's gonna happen the next time you mouth off to me." Bobby finally took the glass away, "Back to the chair, for two hours." He pulled the boy into the dining room and put him back in the chair, in the corner. "Don't move Craig, or I'll make it longer." He turned and walked back to the kitchen.

Craig let his eyes close for a moment, trying to get the tears to stop. He wanted Bobby to tell him he didn't hate him. That he wasn't going to stop loving him because of the way he was acting. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt that there was a danger of that, and he wasn't sure why he hadn't cared about it before, but did now. "Bobby?" He called out as he opened his eyes. The fear of knowing he was going to have to relive what Jordan did to him, and tell strangers about it seemed to erupt inside of him. Fear of Bobby not being there, taking care of it for him. Fear of Bobby not caring what was going to happen, or that he would hate him now, after he'd acted like such an ass with him. They all seemed to meld together in his mind, one becoming the other.

"You aren't supposed to talk Craig." Bobby called out from the kitchen.

"I'm scared." He choked on the words as they came out, and the tears seemed to surge forward with more force. He let his arms wrap around his stomach. He felt the twisting inside, the confusion setting in, and the fear intensifying, drowning out all the other emotions, especially the anger he'd been battling just minutes before.

"I know you are." Bobby spoke from right behind him. "Come here." He stepped into view and reached down to the boy, pulling him up from the chair, lifting him off the floor as he pulled him into a hug. "Hang on little brother."

Craig wrapped his arms around Bobby's neck and clung to him. "I'm sorry." He cried out. "I'm sorry." The tears seemed to surge harder. "I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to tell them what he did. I don't think I can tell anyone else."

"I know you are. It's okay Craig, it's gonna be okay, I promise." Bobby walked him to the living room. "I'm sorry I can't stop them from making you do this Craig, I really am. I would stop it if I could. You know that don't you?" He sat on the couch, pulling Craig onto his lap with the boy's knees resting on the couch, one on either side of him, his head buried into the man's chest and both arms still holding tight around his neck. "Just get it out, cry until you're done; it's okay." He spoke quietly as Craig sobbed.

"I don't want to cry, I'm tired of crying." Craig managed to get the words out in between the sobs. "I'm tired of feeling like this. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I want it to go away."

"I hate to tell you this, but it will probably never go away. It's always going to be there. Maybe not as strong, and you'll learn to live with it, but it's always going to be there." Bobby's voice spoke quietly into his ear. "You got your family Craig; you need to let us help. I ain't gonna let you close yourself off again, not like you did before. I know it's hard, and I know you're gonna feel pissed off at me because I'm not letting you hide from the crap inside your head, but I can't let you do that. You're gonna talk to us, you ain't gonna keep it inside."

"I can't, it's too hard." Craig didn't look up at Bobby; he kept his face buried into his shirt. "It hurts inside, and it won't stop. It goes away for a little while and then it comes back. I don't know why I feel so mad, but I do and I don't want to." He blurted out.

"I know why you feel so mad; you're pissed because of what the hell Macks did to you and what he let Jordan do. You're pissed because total strangers want to pick your brain about it and make you think about it and talk about it and remember it. But you're gonna make it through this, you're gonna go in there and you're gonna do what you need to and when you're done, it will be over and you won't have to talk to anyone else again. You'll just have to talk to your brothers and we'll deal with it." Bobby let his hand rest on the boy's back. "You can't hide from it, whether you go up there or not, you can't pretend it didn't happen. It did happen. That don't mean it has to control you. You're a fighter, you're a Mercer."

"Am I?" Craig heard himself ask the question. "I don't feel like one." He heard himself voice the doubt that seemed to haunt him more than even what Adam had done to him. "I don't act like one, I don't look like one. What's wrong with me?"

"You're Craig Mercer, you're our baby brother, and don't you ever forget that." Bobby responded quickly, with no hesitation. "I don't want you to look like us or act like us. You gotta act like yourself. There's nothing wrong with you. You're normal. More normal than any of us were when we were fourteen. You can thank Ma for that; she made sure you had a chance to be normal. Hell, Craig, she didn't want you to be like us. You were young enough when she got to you that you didn't have to end up like the rest of her sons, and she made sure you didn't. She taught all of us that there was other ways to deal with the crap the world handed us, and she made sure we knew we were good enough to get past it. The same goes for you, you can get past it, and you will. It's just gonna take a little time, you can't expect it to just go away in a week or two."

"But it hurts." Craig muttered.

"Yeah, and It's gonna hurt for a while, I can't make that go away." Bobby sighed. "I wish I could."

They were both quiet for a long while. Craig cried until it seemed he'd emptied out. He was grateful Bobby held onto him that long and he wondered how his brother could stand putting up with him acting like such an ass and then turning unto a sobbing little kid. It was as if a switch had flipped inside of him and he had no way of stopping it. "Do you wish I wasn't here?" He asked the question quietly.

"What?" Bobby's voice came out strong. He grabbed Craig's arms and pulled him back so that he had to look at him. "Where the hell did that come from? How many times do you have to be told we love you? I love you. I could never wish you weren't here. When Ma brought you home, it kind of completed everything, it was like a broken circle, and you filled in the empty spot, and it wouldn't feel right if you weren't here Craig. Why do you think we all busted ourselves up trying to get you back home?"

Craig stared at Bobby for a long moment. The words sounded odd coming from him. He thought about the sound of them and he almost laughed. The tears were still falling, but they were subsiding, and the poetic sound to Bobby's statement reminded him of Jack. "So, Jack and you were talking about it?" He asked the question quietly.

"What?" Bobby looked defensive. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You didn't think that one up by yourself." Craig reached up with his hands and wiped at the wet streaks running down his cheek. "The broken circle being filled thing."

"Oh I didn't?" Bobby challenged. "What, you think Jack is the only Mercer who can come up with stupid, corny shit?" He over exaggerated the expressions on his face as he feigned feeling insulted. He let go of Craig long enough to rest both hands over his heart and wince as if he were in pain. "Oh, I'm so misunderstood."

Craig let himself laugh, just for a moment. "I'm sorry Bobby." He turned serious and held his gaze on his brother.

Bobby allowed the apology, nodded his head slowly, and reached his hands up to the boy's shoulder. "I know you are. I am too, because, I still gotta put you in the corner." He spoke quietly.

Craig felt his heart sink slightly. "But…" He started to argue.

"Craig, when you're feeling like that, when you got all that anger building up, you gotta talk about it before you blow up and say things you don't mean. I ain't gonna put up with the shit from you, I won't. I gotta set some limits here, and you gotta stay in those limits. You hold it in, you blow up, and you sit in the corner. You get your mouth washed out with soap if you stab at people with your words, and that's how it's gonna be. I ain't gonna beat your ass, I'm gonna try this Jerry's way, and if it don't work, well then I'll go back to my way. I don't want to spank you. You gotta understand, I hate doing that, I don't like it. I don't want to hit you in any way, ever again, but if I have to I will. I don't want to sit you in a corner for time outs like you're a small child either, but I will. It's a damn sight better than spanking you, don't you think?" Bobby pointed to the front of Craig's shirt and then held his hand out as if he were expecting something to be handed over.

Craig was confused for a moment by Bobby's action, until he realized that his brother must have felt the pencil that he'd conceled in his shirt. He'd been laying right on his brother. He thought about Bobby's words while he untucked his shirt in the front and pulled the pencil out, handing it over without a word. He had to admit that sitting in a chair wouldn't be all that bad, it was better than being put over Bobby's knee. "Two hours?" He asked weakly.

"Two hours, and then you eat. Your brothers should be home by then." Bobby nodded his head as he held the pencil up and shook his head, giving Craig a look that told the boy he wasn't all that amused.

"You mean they're gonna see me sitting in the corner?" Craig suddenly felt dread fill him at the thought of Angel and Jack seeing him sitting in the corner.

"Yeah, they are, and once you have cleaned up the dishes, they are going to sit with us and you are going to talk to all of us." Bobby reached up and brushed some hair out of Craig's eyes. "It ain't easy Craig, I know that, but it's gonna happen; you are gonna to learn to talk to us. It just takes practice."

Craig wiped at his cheeks again, making sure the last of the tears were gone. He nodded his head, relenting to the inevitable. He slowly got up from Bobby's lap and let the man lead him back to the dining room. He sat down in the chair and looked up at the man. "Wait, you're cooking dinner?" He asked as the thought struck him.

"Don't you start, I might just surprise you." Bobby grinned as he walked on through the room towards the kitchen.

"Does Angel know?" Craig called out as he looked straight ahead into the corner.

"No talking Craig!" Bobby called back.

Craig sighed and waited. This could turn into an interesting evening long before they ever got to the talk Bobby was planning after dinner. In fact, he might not have to worry about the talk at all. They would all have to survive the dinner first.


	31. Chapter 31

Okay, had to have a little fun, it just kind of came out this way. Let me know what you think :)

Still don't own, still poor.

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**Chapter 31: A Mercer Time Out**

Craig stared at the corner, the red wall covering coated in flowers seemed to eat into his eyes, and he did his best to divert his attention to something else. He could hear pots and pans banging around in the kitchen and thought that maybe he could get away with moving his chair to face the wall lined with pictures so he actually had something to look at. He thought about it and dismissed the thought fairly quick. He didn't want another hour added to his time in solitary. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment, but that was almost as bad at the flowers on the wall.

He left his head hanging over the back of the chair and looked at the pictures from an upside down angle, but that started to give him a headache after a few minutes. He sat back up and sighed heavily. His butt started to hurt from sitting in one spot on the hard chair, and he let himself slide down a bit to change the pressure point on his butt cheeks.

He found himself staring into the flowers again, following the lines in the design and wondered who the hell had the job of designing wall paper and what went through their minds when they came up with the patterns that would someday cover the walls of thousands of homes. Why did it seem that all wallpaper always had to be flowers? If he were the one coming up with designs for wallpaper he would be able to come up with something a damn sight better than flowers. He could design wall paper, and make it something interesting for kids to stare at when they are forced against their will to stare into it for an inhumane period of time. Then he wondered how he could possibly consider that kind of work. Thank God Bobby couldn't hear his thoughts; he wouldn't let that one go. One of his brothers designing wallpaper would be one of those opening lines to fairy jokes and sister remarks. He couldn't handle it if Bobby started teasing him the way he teased at Jack.

It seemed he'd been subjected to the torture of flowers painted on red paper for an eternity, "Bobby, how much longer?" He called out, unable to hold in the desire to get up and let some blood flow to his butt cheeks.

"No talking Craig." Bobby called out from the kitchen.

"My butt is going numb." Craig called back, knowing he should probably keep his mouth shut and wait for Bobby to tell him he could get up. He was sure it couldn't be very much longer; it seemed he'd already spent half the day confined to that chair in the corner of the dining room.

Bobby walked into the dining room from the kitchen, carrying a potato in his hand. "I ain't telling you again, no talking or I'm adding another thirty minutes to it." He shook the potato at the teen as if to punctuate his statement.

Craig couldn't stop himself, "How much longer?" He heard the whine in his voice but didn't care.

"You've only been sitting there for thirty minutes. Now hush." Bobby walked back into the kitchen.

No. No. No. He had been in that corner for longer than thirty minutes, he knew he had. "Bobby!" He cried out.

"Fine, thirty more minutes just got added. Enjoy yourself." Bobby called from the kitchen. "No more talking or I'll make you sit there for the rest of the night."

Craig couldn't stop his left foot from stomping on the floor. He kicked at the baseboard a few times and tried to lean to one side so that his butt could get some circulation. He tried to think of any reason at all that he could get up from the chair for just a few minutes and let his backside recover enough to support him for two more hours. "I have to go to the restroom." He called out, hoping for a short break.

"For every trip to the restroom you get another ten minutes on that chair. You sure you need to go that bad?" Bobby called back.

Craig felt his body slump. "No." He spoke quietly, but apparently it was loud enough for Bobby to hear.

"I didn't think so. Now keep quiet and stare at the flowers." Bobby laughed as he called out the words.

Craig let his head tilt back again and he looked back up at the ceiling. "This isn't any way to punish a person. Why don't you just put me over your knee and get it over with?" He called out.

"I don't know kid; I'm kind of starting to like this. You shut your mouth. It will be over soon enough" Bobby laughed again. "Keep quiet long enough and I might let you get up sooner."

Craig stared at the ceiling. He opened his mouth to say something about unfair treatment, but then thought that it may not be such a good idea. He sighed heavily and studied a yellow water spot on the ceiling. His mind was able to pull a face out of that spot, a goofy looking face with a big mustache. He turned his head slightly to the left and the face turned into a rabbit. He shifted his angel yet again, back to the right, and let his mind form another picture. "My God, we've got a spot on the ceiling that looks like Jesus. Quick, someone call the Pope, we could get rich off of this one." He spoke quietly.

"Sit your ass up right." Bobby's voice drew his attention away from the miracle ceiling spot, and to the upside down doorway and Bobby standing on his head, or walking on the floor upside down, whichever the case may be.

"Bobby, this isn't fair. I can't do this for two hours." Craig was amazed at how calm his voice sounded as he spoke to his brother from his inverted position. "Please, put me over your knee so I can go on with my life?"

"No, Craig, you're gonna sit yourself upright. You are going to sit there and you are going to keep quiet." Bobby warned. "Right now, sit up." He walked over and grabbed Craig's arm, pulling him forward so that he was looking at the wall. "I ain't warning you again. One more time, and I'll stand your ass in that corner instead of having you sit there." Bobby turned and walked away.

Craig stared at the flowers, and felt his mind starting to drift. He wondered how much longer it would be until Angel and Jack came home and found him sitting there like a five year old staring at flowers. He knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience.

He studied the lines in the petals, and the curve of the stems of each different flower. Of course each design was repeated over and over and over again. He let his mind try to imagine Evelyn picking the design out years before, trying to decide just the perfect pattern to plaster on the wall to be used in later years as a torture device on her youngest son. His mind formed a picture of her secretly pulling Bobby to the side at some point in his youth and relaying to him that if ever the need should arise, that a 'time out' in the dining room corner would be the perfect way to inflict endless hours of agony on any unsuspecting victim, permanently imprinting the floral designs into their brainwaves and causing complete insanity for the rest of their life, turning them into gay florists.

The imagined thought brought on another urge to call out to his brother. "You know, if I grow up and become a florist, it's your fault!"

Bobby returned to the room and calmly took a hold of Craig's arm without saying a word. He pulled him to his feet and stood him facing the corner before speaking in a quiet and calm tone. "You don't turn away from that corner and you keep your mouth shut."

Craig could hear the chair scraping against the floor as it was pulled back to its position at the end of the table. He reached back with his hands and started rubbing at his aching butt. At least he got to stand now. His butt started to get some blood flow and he felt a little better. He leaned into the corner and pulled his right hand up to trace the outline of the petals and stems. He found his hand steadily moving upward, repeating the action on the print there, and then repeating the action again, on the next one. His left leg started to get tired after some time and he shifted his weight to his other side, turning slightly to start over again with a yellow flower on his left side. He traced the entire print, and then moved upward to the blue flower, repeating the action.

A smell started to fill the house that vaguely reminded him of deep fried potatoes, just a bit on the burnt side of done. He shifted his weight back to his left leg as his right leg started to tire, and he sniffed at the air. The odor stinging at his nose was not pleasant. He risked a peek towards the kitchen and wasn't the least bit surprised to see a small amount of smoke swirling around in the air. "Bobby, did you set the house on fire?" He called out.

"No, I did not set the house on fire, get your face back in that corner and stand up straight. No more games Craig, I'm getting tired of telling you!" Bobby appeared in his view for just a moment, but quickly stepped back out of sight around the doorway, "Son of a bitch!" He yelled a moment later. "Damn, where's the lid?" He cried out, and that was quickly followed by a loud crashing noise.

"Bobby?" Craig didn't turn back towards the corner; he was starting to feel a little worried. There was a reason everyone kept Bobby out of the kitchen, and the man was taking advantage of the fact that there was no other brother there to pull him away from the danger zone known as the stove.

The level of smoke was starting to increase, and after another moment the smoke detector in the foyer went off, screeching loudly with a pitch high enough to cause permanent damage to nearby ears. Another sound of crashing, metal against metal, and metal against tile flooring compounded with the loud squeal of the alarm sounding out.

Craig was about to call out again when he seen Bobby moving past the doorway towards the back door with a frying pan in his hand, flames and smoke licking up from under a lid that hadn't been made for that pan. One of Bobby's hands was wrapped in a towel, holding the handle of the pan; the other reached for the door knob and struggled with it for a moment before managing to twist it the right direction to open the door. He disappeared from view, but Craig quickly moved to the other side of the room, and leaned across Jack's bed so that he could look out the window at the sight of Bobby tossing the flaming pan into the partially melted snow in the back yard before reaching for more snow to throw onto the flames. He watched as his brother shoveled handfuls of snow onto the flames, one right after another. He could hear the swearing through the window as Bobby yelled at the pan as if it were some unruly child.

Craig knew he was actually the unruly child, and that Bobby was probably not going to be in the best of moods when he returned to the house, but he was lost in the moment, watching his brother through the window and laughing at him, enjoying the show quite immensely, until the man looked up at him, their eyes locking onto each other. The humor of the situation quickly died and he moved himself back to the corner, standing stiff as a board, facing the beautiful shade of blue flower that seemed to be at his eye level. He heard the back door slam shut and was sure he felt the house vibrate under the force of the slam. The barely audible sounds of heavy footsteps hitting the kitchen floor blended in with the sound of the smoke alarm. The footsteps became faint, but he thought he could hear cursing from somewhere in the house, maybe the foyer. Moments later the shrieking stopped. The house fell silent, and it felt odd to the boy. He heard the heavy steps in the kitchen again, and the sound felt as if it were amplified a thousand times, with no shrieking from the alarm to drown them out.

The sound of water running in the sink lasted for a long time, and then he heard what sounded like the refrigerator door open and moments later it banged shut. He heard noises that he couldn't quite decipher before Bobby walked into the dining room. "Okay, you think that was funny?" Bobby asked.

Craig didn't turn around to look at his brother. "No sir." He muttered, though he was trying hard to hold in a laugh. It took all of his control to keep it in.

"You don't? Hell, if I'd been the one looking out the window I would have thought it was fucking hilarious." Bobby walked up to stand right behind him.

Craig bit at his lip. "But, I was in the corner. I'm on a 'time out', and I wouldn't dare move from this spot." He knew Bobby knew better, the man had looked right at him.

"Really, is that so? I'm glad to hear that, because you know what you would get if you did move from that spot, don't you?" Bobby's voice sounded tense, but Craig didn't feel a threat in it.

"No sir." Craig let his eyes shift slightly to his right to try to take a peek behind him, but Bobby wasn't in his line of sight. He was ready to hear Bobby telling him he had another hour added to his punishment, or something worse that he couldn't work up in his mind with so little time to think about it.

He didn't expect the man to pull his shirt collar away from his neck, or to feel the contents of a bowl full of ice dumped down the back of shirt. He didn't expect Bobby's hands to reach down and grab him to tickle at his sides. He barely noticed the bowl Bobby had used to carry the ice falling to the floor as his body was overcome with freezing ice down the back of his shirt, trapped there because the article of clothing was tucked into the back of his pants, and the tickling that seemed to travel through his entire torso from both sides of his body, forcing him to laugh though he wanted to struggle against it and make it stop.

"Bobby!" He screamed out as his laughing started to overtake him. He tried to pull free from Bobby to let the ice out of his shirt, but the tickling in his sides was taking away all control over the rest of his muscles. His knees buckles, and he started to drop, praying that it would get him away from Bobby's hands long enough to pull his shirt free from his jeans and allow the ice to escape. The man caught him around the waist and stopped him from falling to the floor, but both of them ended up on their knees. Bobby continued tickling and Craig laughed too hard to manage any tangible words, though he was trying to beg the man to stop.

Neither one heard the back door bang closed. "What the hell happened in here? Bobby? Did you try to cook?" Angel's yells quieted both the man and the boy. "Damn, I warned you about this!"

Craig twisted around enough to look at Bobby, both of them seemed to have been busted, but Craig wasn't sure exactly what they had been busted for.

"What are you guys doing?" Jack's voice came from the doorway. Craig and Bobby both turned and looked at the expression Jack's face, the look of confusion and worry seemed to bring on the need for both of them to laugh again.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Angel appeared behind Jack, looking past him to the man and boy on their knees on the floor. "Jesus, we leave you alone for a few hours and this is what happens?" He cried out. "You ain't supposed to go near the stove Bobby. I told you I would make dinner when I got home."

"I was bored. I thought I'd have it ready for you when you came home." Bobby let Craig lean forward, and he pulled his shirt out for him to let the ice drop to the floor.

"Yeah, you look bored alright. You ain't got enough to occupy you trying to keep that boy entertained?" Angel cried out and moved back into the kitchen. "I ain't cleaning up this mess. I ain't cooking until this mess is cleaned up either. So you all had better get your shit together and get to work!"

Jack still looked completely confused by the sight of Bobby and Craig on the floor. "What the hell are you doing?" He repeated, this time with more force to his words.

"Craig is on a time out. He's supposed to be standing in the corner right now because he wouldn't keep still on the chair." Bobby spoke as if his words should be making sense to any normal human being who had walked in on them at that moment.

"Right, I see how that can end up with both of you on the floor, and ice falling out of his shirt." Jack nodded his head slowly, turned and walked away.

"He moved out of the corner, so what was I supposed to do? I want him to learn his lesson." Bobby called out loud enough that his voice would carry throughout the house.

"Don't really care to hear it Bobby." Jack called back. "Get the kitchen cleaned up so Angel can cook something edible, I'm starving."

Bobby looked down at Craig and laughed. "Well, since I'm going to need your help cleaning up, I guess you're hour is up." He stood and helped the boy stand. "Get that ice cleaned up and meet me in the kitchen."

"But, I'm supposed to be standing in the corner." Craig reminded. "You had to add time, remember?" He didn't want to get stuck cleaning up Bobby's mess in the kitchen, though he hadn't seen it first hand, he could remember past attempts at cooking from Bobby, and he'd seen ground zero then, it was not a pretty sight.

"You're 'time out' is wearing me out Craig. Get your ass in the kitchen and help me." Bobby called out without looking back.

Craig smiled to himself as he grabbed the bowl and started scooping the ice cubes into it. Well, that punishment could have been much worse. He could have actually been bored the entire time, if he hadn't been born with such a creative mind…


	32. Chapter 32

Thanks to all for reading, and for the reviews! :)

Still don't own, still no money made...

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**Chapter 32: Game Is On**

Craig helped Bobby clean the kitchen, though he didn't think it was fair that he had to clean up a mess that he didn't make. Bobby started out doing a lot of the scrubbing on the stove needed to remove the residue of what ever had spilled out all over the top, around the front burner. Of course, once that part had been scrubbed he seemed to find a reason to go into the living room to talk to Angel or Jack about one thing or another. He'd return to the kitchen for a few minutes, and then have to go back to the living room, and he seemed to take longer each time. Craig picked the pots and pans up off the floor and washed them off in the sink before drying them and storing them back in their proper place. Apparently they had spilled out of the bottom cabinet when Bobby was trying to find a lid to drop onto the pan in his attempt to smother the flames.

When Craig tried to locate the frying pan that had been subjected to extreme heat and then doused in icy, half melted snow, it was nowhere in sight. Bobby was on one of his trips to the living room, having to ask Jack a question about the laundry for some reason, so Craig stepped over to the kitchen window and looked out at to the spot where Bobby had been using his hands to shovel the slushy snow on the pan. Sure enough, there was the pan, mostly buried, but the handle pointed up out of the white and muddy mix, straight towards the sky, with the oversized lid lying in the show nearby. He wondered how long it would take Bobby to admit to his brothers exactly what had happened in the kitchen, because for the time being he wasn't talking about it, though Craig did notice quite a few potato peelings in the trash can, more than a normal amount really, it looked like he'd gone potato crazy.

Once the kitchen was clean enough, Bobby called Angel in to inspect it, and get started on dinner. The large man walked into the kitchen and checked the counters and stove carefully. "All the pans were washed before they were put away?" He looked at Craig who nodded his head quickly. Angel turned to Bobby and pointed his finger at him. "You need to keep your ass out of this kitchen Bobby. If you gotta heat it, or cut it, or mash it, you ain't got no business touching it." He kept his voice quiet as he turned and looked at Craig. "You want fried potatoes?" He asked the boy with a smile.

Craig grinned, remembering that the cast iron skillet used for frying potatoes was at that moment half buried in the back yard snow mound, pointing at the sky in a desperate attempt to signal for help, not to mention that he doubted Bobby left many potatoes to fry after his own attempt. "I think fried potatoes would be great." He looked over at Bobby to see the man wince as if he were in pain.

"No fried potatoes. I don't feel like potatoes tonight." Bobby shook his head. "Let's just make this simple and order Chinese." He took a step towards the phone.

"No, I got pork chops thawed out in the 'fridge just for tonight." Angel shook his head and stepped past Bobby to the pantry door, where the potatoes were kept.

Bobby cleared his throat loudly. "I burned the potatoes." He spoke quickly.

Angel turned and looked at him. He laughed a little. "We had a brand new bag of potatoes, there's no way you cut up all of those potatoes and got them into a skillet." He shook his head.

"Well, no, not all of them made it into the skillet. I mean, there were a few of them that I screwed up and just tossed in the trash." Bobby shrugged his shoulders.

"Tossed in the trash? How the hell do you screw a potato up so bad that you just trash it Bobby?" Angel waved his hands back and forth in front of him as if to keep Bobby from answering the question that had been directed at him. "Don't bother, I don't want to know. Okay, that just frees up the good pan for the chops. I think we got some instant potatoes in the cupboard, I'll make some those and then patty them up and fry them in the small skillet." He was doing quite well at holding his temper; Craig had to admit that, though the twitching around his eyes was still visible.

The boy pulled himself up onto the counter to watch the rest of the show. He was getting a good bit of entertainment out of the scene playing out in front of him. Bobby was really digging himself in deep, and Angel seemed oblivious to just how seriously Bobby had messed up his kitchen and the items in it.

Angel moved towards the bottom cupboard to locate the skillet, but Bobby stepped in front of him. "Come on, brother, let me order Chinese, I'll treat everyone. We can have the pork chops for breakfast. Remember when Ma used to make us pork chops and biscuits and gravy for Sunday breakfast?"

Angel looked at Bobby, his left eye twitched slightly. "Tomorrow ain't Sunday, Bobby. You want to tell me what the fuck you did? What did you do?"

Bobby grinned. "You already know what I did; I screwed up in the kitchen, just like I always do." He shook his head. "I just feel bad that I didn't listen to you and wait until you got home to let you make dinner. So, let me buy dinner and I'll feel better."

Angel turned and faced Craig head on. "Where is my skillet? He obviously don't want me going for the skillet, so where is it?" He asked the question slowly.

Craig opened his mouth, ready to tell him all about the cast iron object reaching out from the snow, but he looked at Bobby's face, the man wasn't going to be very happy if he gave him up right then. "I don't know." He muttered and looked down at his hands.

He figured Angel wouldn't get upset with him when he did finally find out, and he would find out eventually; he'd channel it in the proper direction, at Bobby. There was no reason for him to be on Bobby's bad side any more than he already was, though Bobby hadn't really seemed angry with him before. He'd actually let him out of the corner sooner than he was supposed to, and he hadn't really been upset that he'd had such a hard time staying in the corner and keeping quiet, his back still felt damp from the ice that had been dropped down his shirt. He looked up at Angel, and then to Bobby.

Bobby looked at the boy and smiled. He shook his head slowly. "Craig, you are one lousy liar, you know that?" He laughed and turned to Angel. "Your beloved skillet is in the back yard." He admitted. "I caught it on fire and had to get it out of the house." He explained. "I kind of forgot it was there though, so it ain't cleaned up."

Angel rolled his eyes and walked to the back door to look out at the handle poking out of the snow. "Okay, you order Chinese, and then you go get my skillet and treat it proper. There ain't no reason to leave a good skillet sitting out in the snow like that." He turned and looked at Bobby.

Bobby grinned and started to say something that probably would have compared Angel's love for his pan to his love for Sofi, but the phone rang out. He laughed and turned to answer the phone. "Hello." He held the cordless to his ear. "Yeah, this is Bobby Mercer." He glanced at Angel, and then turned his eyes towards Craig. "Yes, I have been expecting your call Mr. Porter." He turned away from Craig, and hesitated before walking out of the kitchen. "No, no, it's not too late; I knew you were going to be calling."

Craig felt his stomach twist up on him as he looked back down at his hands. He knew the call was from the District Attorney's office, it had to be. He could tell by the change that had come over Bobby's face and the laughter had been sucked right out of him. His brother's voice grew faint, and though Craig wanted to hear what was said, he didn't follow. Bobby obviously didn't want him to hear the conversation or he wouldn't have left the room.

He tried to remember what Bobby had said to him just a short time before, about how he could go in and talk to these people about what Jordan had done to him, and he would be okay, and his brother would be close by. Robert would go in with him, and he wasn't going to be alone; his mother's lawyer would make sure no one talked to him like he was the one to blame for what happened. He knew Robert, and he knew he could trust him, but he didn't know about talking about being handled like someone's sex toy in front of him. It would be better than being alone though.

They wouldn't make him feel dirty and ugly inside, he would have people close by to keep that from happening. He tried very hard to think about that part of the whole mess, but it didn't make him feel much better. He would still be able to look into their eyes and see what they were really thinking about him. They would blame him, and think that he did something to make Jordan think he could touch him, and hurt him like that. He knew they would. His right hand started to itch and he reached over with his left hand to scratch at it.

Angel stepped up to him and took a hold of his hands. Craig wasn't expecting it, and he jumped slightly, looking up at Angel. Maybe his desperation was showing in his eyes, but Angel pulled his arms around him and held onto him in a tight hug. "It's okay Craig, we know it ain't gonna be easy, but you ain't gonna be alone." He spoke quietly, reinforcing Bobby's words from before.

Craig felt a shiver run down him, and he wished the rest of the world would just go away and leave him alone. He didn't need anything else but his brothers and the safety of his mother's home. That was all he needed and wanted. There was movement in the doorway and Angel pulled back from him to turn in that direction. Jack was standing there looking at both of them. He looked at Craig and then at Angel. "I take it he's talking to the District Attorney's office?" He asked quietly.

Angel nodded his head. "That's the impression we got." He answered.

Jack drew in a deep breath and looked at Craig for a long moment. "Okay, so what's for dinner?" He turned back to Angel.

"I guess we're gonna order out. Chinese." Angel shrugged his shoulders.

Jack nodded his head and all three of them fell silent until Bobby walked back into the kitchen carrying the phone. The man looked at all three pairs of eyes focused on him. "We need to be downtown by eight o'clock in the morning." He let his gaze rest on Craig. "You can get your shower tonight, and that way we won't be so rushed in the morning, okay?" He spoke quietly. "I need to call Bradford and let him know. I need to call Jerry too." He looked nervous, and that didn't help Craig to feel any kind of calm about the whole situation.

"Well you do that, I'm going to call and order the food." Angel pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "What does everyone want? A little bit of everything?"

"You call Bradford, I'll call Jerry." Jack followed Angel's lead and pulled out his cell phone.

Bobby looked at Craig. "You okay?" He asked as he held the phone up and quickly punched out a number.

Craig shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his hands again.

"Hey, answer me." Bobby reached out and let his free hand rest on Craig's shoulder while he held the phone to his ear. "Look at me and talk to me." He gave the shoulder a slight squeeze.

Craig looked up at Bobby. "No." He muttered. "I'm not okay."

Bobby nodded his head. "Come here." He pulled him off the counter and close to him, holding his arm around him and letting him rest his head on his shoulder. "Just relax. It's gonna be fine." He spoke quietly as he waited for Bradford to answer the phone.

Craig listened as Bobby spoke with Bradford, telling him what time they wanted Craig at their office. He could hear Robert's voice over the receiver, but he couldn't make out all of the words. He was sure he heard him saying he wanted some time with Craig before they talked to him, and Bobby agreed to have him at his office early, about seven, that meant they would be leaving much earlier than they had expected. Craig could hear Jack talking to Jerry, telling him the details, and Bobby taking the time to correct Jack. "We gotta be at Bradford's office by seven. He wants us there."

Jack updated that information with Jeremiah while Angel was rattling off just about every Chinese food there was over his phone, and Bobby was listening to Bradford talking to him over the house phone. Craig felt lost. He hung onto Bobby a little harder as he tried not to let his mind fall into that deep pit of fear that was growing inside of him. He was thankful when his brother finally hung up the phone and wrapped both arms around him.

"I know Craig." Bobby leaned down and whispered in his ear. "But we're gonna be right there, and you are a damn sight stronger than you think. I'll tell you that as much as I need to until you believe it. You just stay close to me tonight and hang on, I ain't gonna let anything happen to you."

Jack hung up the phone and looked at Bobby. "Jerry said he'd be here in the morning, a little after six and he'll drive us over to Bradford's office." He informed.

"Yeah, and make that a double order of Moo Goo Gai Pan." Angel's voice seemed to carry now that Bobby and Jack were both off the phone and all attention seemed to be directed to his conversation. "That's right, and plenty of soy sauce, it goes fast around here." He smiled and listened for a moment. "Okay, that sounds good. " He looked at Bobby. "You want to use a credit card?" He asked.

"Well how much is it?" Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "I should have enough in cash."

"One hundred and twenty five dollars is the total." Angel grinned wide.

"What?" Bobby shook his head. "Oh hell no, little brother, what the fuck did you order, the entire menu?"

Angel grinned wide, "Well, no one really told me what they wanted." He chuckled. "Sofi will be here tonight anyway, so we'll need plenty of food." He held his hand out towards Bobby.

Bobby pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed it over. Angel dug inside until he found the credit card and started rattling the number off over the phone, a satisfied expression covered his face. Craig thought that maybe Bobby would stay out of the kitchen now since he knew how expensive his attempts at cooking could be.

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Jones held the phone to his ear and listened to Jessup Winston answer the phone. He smiled to himself, but kept silent. Hell, this was fun. He loved hearing the tension in Winston's voice. He waited until Winston hung up the phone, and sat back in the chair. Jordan was still sitting across from him. He grinned at the man and held the phone up to redial the number. Again he listened to Winston answer, but this time the man went into a small speech about not having any comments, no statements. He laughed out loud after the click sounded out in his ear.

Jordan cleared his throat. "Why are you playing games with him? Why don't you just talk to him?"

"Now Brad, there would be no fun in that, now would there?" Jones leaned forward in his seat. "I need him to know who the hell is in charge here. He's got himself into a bit of a situation, and so long as he does what he's told, I might just be able to help him out of it." He didn't bother adding that his way of helping would be to put a bullet in the man's head for turning on him and talking to the cops, it might give Jordan some kind of worry.

Hell, Jordan had talked to the cops, and he might think that his ass was gonna be shot up if he knew his plans for Winston. He probably would off the sorry shit sitting across the table at him and put him out of his misery, but not now, and he didn't need Jordan to suspect it. He needed Jordan to trust him; he needed him for the time being. "Now, why don't you get me that paper I asked for?" He cocked his thumb towards the other room. Higgins had called his phone just before he'd started his calls to Winston, and told him he needed to check the help wanted section in the paper, so he was going to need that. When he'd asked Jordan if he had the paper delivered every day the answer had been yes, but the man hadn't gone for it, stupid shit had to be told every move to make.

Jordan stood and walked out of his kitchen like a small child being ordered to do something by his father. Jones chuckled quietly as he dialed Winston's number again. He listened for the answer, and slowly Mack's pushed his way out from the inside. He wanted a part in this one. He was tired of playing on the phone, he wanted to let Winston know he was back, and that he something more to worry about than the investigation Higgins had filled him in on. Poor Winston was about to lose more than he thought.

"Winston." The man's voice came through the phone and Macks smiled as he imagined the man sitting at his desk with hit boots propped up smugly on the piece of furniture.

"Game's on Winston." Mack's spoke the words quietly, letting the gravely texture of it carry the threat that was intended. He hung up the phone and let it drop onto the kitchen table next to the plate he had just eaten his own shitty cooking off of. His eyes half closed as he let his hands imagine the feel of Jessup Winston's throat being squeezed in between them. He was going to kill the son of a bitch, but he was going to do it slow, and make him suffer the whole time.

Jordan returned with the paper and moved to return to his own chair, but Macks looked up at him. "What the fuck is wrong you man? Clean up this mess. You ain't done anything around this place; it's disgusting. Wash the damn dishes, sweep the floor. Damn, ain't you got no sense? You hit a fucking rough time in your life and you think you gotta live like an animal? Get it cleaned up, now. I don't want to see you sit your fat ass down until it's done." He studied the stunned expression on Jordan's face for a moment before snatching the paper from his hands and sitting back in his chair to look through it for the section he needed.

Jordan sighed and picked the dishes up off the table and moving to the sink without saying a word.

Macks found what he was looking for while Jordan started running dishwater. Jeremiah Mercer was holding open interviews the next day. Hell this was just perfect. Jones needed a job…


	33. Chapter 33

Hope everyone has a fun and safe New Year, especially to those who are going to be traveling! When all the fun is over and you have a chance to read this, let me know what you think :)

Do not own and make 0 $.

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**Chapter 33: Plans Forming**

Craig found eating quite a task that evening. He did try, and Bobby seemed to understand that he was trying, but the man still made him sit at the table until what he'd been given had been eaten, though he did let the small amount of rice left over on the paper plate slide. Angel offered to help Sofi clean up, not that there was going to be much to the task, since there were no dishes to wash, and once they'd cleared the table the two of them ran upstairs. Bobby sat back in his chair and looked at Craig who was suddenly feeling completely exhausted.

Jack was still seated at the table, and looked from Bobby to Craig, and then back to Bobby. He leaned forward onto the table. "So, Craig, what were you supposed to be in a time out for?" He asked, apparently thinking he could get the boy's mind onto another train of throught.

Craig looked up at Jack before diverting his eyes to the wood grain of the table. "I guess I said something to Bobby that I shouldn't have." He muttered. He couldn't help but shrink on the inside as he remembered the feelings that had filled him earlier, pulling the anger out from the dark storm trying to build before. He felt bad about the words he'd said to Bobby, and the way he had felt when the words came out. He didn't want to feel that way again.

"You guess you said something you shouldn't have?" Bobby cried out, but he grinned. "Kid, if you keep talking to me like you did earlier, you are going to be able to blow bubbles out your mouth every time you speak." He turned to Jack. "He got his mouth washed out with soap." He explained calmly.

Craig glanced up at Bobby, knowing he needed to get the guilt out of his system before he could really feel any better. "Sorry, I didn't mean any of it." He returned his concentration to the patterns the grain of the wooden table seemed to make. "I did learn something though." He muttered, trying to find the same sense of humor he'd had earlier when he'd been staring at the ceiling.

"What did you learn?" Bobby asked, seeming interested.

"We have Jesus on the ceiling." Craig pointed up in the general direction of the yellow stain without actually lookin away from the table. The attempt at locating the funny side of the stain on the ceiling didn't work. He didn't laugh or feel like laughing now. He wanted to cry, and crawl into a hole somewhere and hide away from the doom that he felt looming around him. The doom the next morning was going to bring.

Both Bobby and Jack looked up in the direction Craig had pointed and shifted their positions slightly to the right, as they studied the stain. "That ain't Jesus, that's a fucking rabbit." Bobby muttered.

Jack laughed and looked back at Craig while Bobby continued to study the ceiling a moment longer. "You're pretty scared, huh?" Jack cleared his throat before he managed to get the words out.

Craig felt his breath catch in his chest. He couldn't do anything more than nod his head.

"Hey." Bobby looked down at the boy. "We know you're scared, but you can't hold it in, or blow up at us because of it, you understand that, don't you?"

Craig nodded his head slowly, still trying to concentrate on the table, "Yeah."

"You get scared, you tell us about it. You can tell us anything, but cussing us out and saying mean shit ain't gonna happen no more, right?" Bobby pushed as he leaned forward, mirroring Jack's position. "We can't help you if you don't let us Craig. You gotta talk to us. Come on now, talk."

Craig finally pulled his gaze from the table, and looked at Bobby. "I don't want to go Bobby." He knew he'd said it before, over and over again, and he knew it wasn't going to do any good saying it again, but he was unsure how to voice his fears. He had to go talk to the District Attorney or someone from his office, and he was going to have to tell about what Jordan had forced him to do, and his memories from before seemed to be swirling around in his head, filling in the cloudy gaps with visions of cruel words and critical stares being cast down on him, as if he were guilty of a crime.

"I know you don't want to go. You know, I don't want to make you go, but none of us have any kind of a choice here. If you don't go, they will just get papers that say you have to anyway, and that will just make everything harder." Bobby kept his voice quiet. "You can't run from it kid, you gotta face it. You're stronger than you think you are, you can do this, and afterwards, you can cry on my shirt." He reached up and patted his right shoulder.

"You know, it takes a lot of guts going in there and talking to them, and answering the questions they're gonna ask you. It takes a lot more guts than I have. I couldn't do it." Jack shook his head. His voice seemed to tremble slightly. "If I had done something like that before, maybe it would have stopped someone else from being hurt." He looked at Bobby and the two of them seemed to pass an unspoken message between them.

"Come on Jackie, you don't know that." Bobby spoke quietly and Craig could feel there was a secret message hidden in there somewhere that only Jack could pick up on.

Craig felt confused. "What are you talking about?" He could sense something was going on with Jack that no one was telling him, and he knew they thought he was going through too much crap of his own for him to need to know, but he did care that Jack seemed to be battling something inside, and it bothered him that he was left out of his brothers' secrets, a little. He knew he could never know everything about his brothers, none of them, and there were always going to be things that were their business, that they wouldn't want him to know. Maybe it was because he was so much younger than they were, or maybe they just didn't think he needed to know, and that had to be okay, because he couldn't change the way they felt. He was beginning to understand that he didn't have to know every last detail, or be included in all of their private matters to be one of them. Or at least he thought maybe he was starting to understand that on a certain level. The fear was still there, lingering in the shadows of his thoughts, he just had to get past those shadows, and learn to let the fear go.

Something about Jack the past couple of days had seemed off, and Craig somehow thought it was his fault. Maybe Jack was having a hard time dealing with things because of what had happened to him when he was little, it brought back bad memories. He wasn't sure what it was, he just knew he hated to see Jack with a look of hurt hiding behind his stare.

Jack and Bobby both looked at Craig, and Bobby smiled, while Jack stood and walked out of the room. "I gotta go take a piss." He muttered as he disappeared around the doorway.

Craig looked at Bobby. "Is he okay?" He asked quietly.

"You don't worry about Jack; right now he's just worried about you." Bobby shook his head.

"But he looked upset." Craig let his eyes fall to Bobby once Jack was out of the room.

"He is upset; he's upset that you gotta do something that's hard, and frightening. He wants to help you, and he doesn't know how." Bobby spoke quietly. "He's scared for you. That's all. Don't worry, he talks to me when we have a chance to talk in private, and he's fine. You know what happened to Jack when he was little?" He asked.

Craig shrugged his shoulders. "He told me some." He looked back down to the table.

"You know it's hard for him to see you go through all of this, it brings back some shit for him too, but he's okay. He talks to his brothers, he tells us shit. You don't, and that's why he's worried about you." Bobby's voice took on a very serious texture, grinding the words out as if he were trying to get a point across the wooden table.

Craig felt tears sting his eyes. "It's hard. I try and the words stop in my throat." He muttered.

"Well the swearing comes out easy enough, and the words that hurt the people that love you." Bobby shook his head. "I know how hard it is Craig, and I know you will get better at it, because I ain't gonna let you do it the other way no more. You're still trying to deal with shit the same way you did when you were six years old, and it just ain't gonna work now, because you're older, and you can't forget the bad stuff like you could when you were six. It sticks in your head, and your brain chews on it and gets you all pissed off. I know how it is. Why do you think I hit so hard? I dealt with shit the same way when I was young. I got pissed off and hit things, and people." Bobby drew in a deep breath. "I had to learn the other way, learn to talk, and Ma made damn sure I learned it. You'll learn it too, it's just gonna take some time. Getting pissed is natural, and it's okay, but there's boundaries, there are certain things that are off limits, and calling people names, and talking to your brothers like we ain't nothing but shit will get you soap in your mouth and a time out in the corner." He was serious. There was no smile behind his eyes and no hint of a joke about to crack. "Do you understand me?" He asked.

Craig nodded his head. "Yeah, I understand." He looked at Bobby and wondered just how Evelyn had managed to deal with Bobby's temper when he was younger. "How did Mom teach you?"

"Well, she tried her best to get my mouth cleaned out." He let a small smile slip out. "Lots of Ivory Soap and a hell of a lot of work seemed to do the trick with me, most of the time. When she thought I was getting board, she would find something heavy for me to carry up the stairs, or down the stairs, or up the street." He laughed as his eyes seemed to cloud over with memories. "One time she made me carry a whole bedroom suit two blocks over to the McPherson house, she said they needed it something awful. It took me seven trips there and back to get the whole thing there, and then when Mrs. McPherson got home she said they didn't need it, so I had to carry it back. That worked off a lot of energy, got rid of any urge I had to hit anyone for a few days."

Craig let his arms fold on the table and rested his chin on them. "I miss her." He felt the hot tears slide down his cheek. "She could make everything okay just by saying something simple." He heard the yearning in his own voice.

Bobby seemed surprised by the words. "Yeah, she could." He agreed. "But she ain't here Craig, and I ain't got those kinds of words to give to you. As simple as they sounded, they were always pretty complicated, and they always seemed to have a hidden message. I ain't too good at that kind of shit. I just come right out and tell you straight, but hell, but I still love you and I want to help you through this, as close to what Ma would do as I can. I just ain't Ma."

Craig felt his self move from his chair and over to Bobby, and he couldn't stop himself. He let Bobby pull him down to his lap and he rested his head on his shoulder. "Bobby, you'll stay close to the door tomorrow?"

Bobby gave him a tight squeeze. "I'll have my ear glued to the door. If you as much as whimper I'll bust the fucker in and get you out of there."

Craig could hear the promise behind the words and he drew in a deep breath. "They're gonna look at me like I'm dirty." He muttered.

Bobby kept his hold on him. "I don't think they will Craig. They want to get that sick son of a bitch for what he did to you. They don't want to make you feel bad." He kept his voice quiet.

Craig let his eyes close and listened to Bobby's heart thumping hard under his ear. "Thanks." He muttered the word as he felt his body relax a little.

"Come on; let's get you ready for bed. You need to get a shower and get into bed early tonight so you can get up at five in the morning." Bobby gave him a slight nudge. "Let's go."

Craig was surprised that Bobby wanted him to get ready for bed so early, "Right now?" He didn't move to stand, though Bobby was giving him the slight push. He felt drained, but didn't want to go to bed. He knew that the sooner he went to bed and fell asleep the sooner the morning would come, and he didn't want to face that, not yet.

"Yeah, right now, you still have to take your shower, by the time you get that done it will be after eight, and I want you in bed." Bobby gave him another nudge. "Move it."

Craig stood slowly, and watched Bobby move from the chair. His brother made him take his pills before leading him up the stairs. Jack was in his bedroom with the door closed and music playing. Bobby looked towards Jack's door and looked as if he wanted to go in that direction, but he just pointed to the rest room. "Go get in the shower, I'll get your clothes." He looked at the teen before he headed for Craig's bedroom door.

Bobby was right; by the time Craig finished with his shower and was dried and dressed it was after eight. He combed out his hair and brushed his teeth under Bobby's watchful eye and then followed the man to Evelyn's bedroom. He crawled into the bed and watched Bobby walk over to the shade and pull it down. The man walked back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. "I still need to get my shower, and I want to talk to Jack for a few minutes. You gonna be okay until I get back?"

Craig stared at Bobby for a long moment while he considered the question. He was used to falling asleep with Bobby there to hold onto. The man kept the nightmares away, or at least pushed them back when they started. He nodded his head slowly, though he didn't want his brother to leave him, "Yeah, I'm fine." He knew something was up with Jack, something serious, he could feel it. Bobby obviously knew what was going on with Jack, and felt he needed to be his big brother for a while and get him to talk to him.

"Okay, you yell if you need me, I'll be right next door." He cocked a thumb towards the wall that met up with Jack's room as he stood.

Craig nodded his head again; just enough that his brother knew he understood, and watched him leave the room.

* * *

Jones carefully tore the help wanted ad from the paper before turning to the news section and scanning the pages. Yep, right there on the second page was the story on Jordan. He chuckled as he read the article to himself. A local school employee accused of participating in the kidnapping of a local youth, whose identity had been kept confidential to protect that youth. He wondered how badly the papers wanted the name of that youth. He could leak it out. Hell, there was no reason for his kid to be protected against the truth, now was there? He read the entire article, and made a mental note as to the name of the reporter.

His mind was working extra sharp tonight. Maybe it was because he hadn't downed any pill with whiskey, hell, he didn't know, but Macks was doing some thinking behind Jones' eyes. He was mentally working out how easy it would be to call that reporter and entice him with bits and pieces of the story that the man hadn't heard, and draw him out to meet him in a secluded area for a payoff in exchange for some more news worthy facts. Reporters were animals, they didn't care about what they did to people, and they would print anything if it could get their name on the front page of the paper and they would be willing to pay some money for the information.

Yeah, Macks had a plan working out quickly in Jones' mind. First though, there were some other things that needed working out. Other needs that had to be met and he only had one person close enough to take care of those needs. "So, Jordan, you worried about what is going to happen to you in prison?" He let the paper fall on the table in front of him and looked up to the man that was standing with his back to him, washing the dishes and dropping them into the drainer. "I know what they do to spineless shits like you behind those bars."

Jordan froze half way through washing a plate. His shoulders visibly shook, but he didn't say a word.

"They take sorry shits like you and they make them their own bitches. They keep you in line, and you do what the fuck they want you to." Macks laughed and he could hear the wicked, twisted thoughts that were going through his own mind seep out in the sound of his amusement.

Macks stood while Jordan slowly lowered the plate back into the soapy water and let his head drop down. "Come here bitch." Macks spoke the words low and quiet. "Get on your fucking knees and beg me to be kind to you." He unbuckled his belt while Jordan turned slowly towards him, his head lowered to the point that his chin brushed his chest.

Macks smiled, hell, this could be fun. The stupid shit seemed to want it, and even if he didn't, there was nothing he could do. It wasn't as if he were a free man, he was a prisoner in his own home, with no way to escape the confines of the walls without ending up in jail. Jordan was a real pussy, and Macks was going to take advantage of that and use him for all he was worth in every way possible. The whole fucking situation was looking better and better as each second passed.

Jordan moved to his knees and looked up at Macks, tears rimming his eyes behind his black rimmed glasses. They had slid down his nose, again, but he didn't move to push them up, instead he reached up with one hand and removed them. He knew what Macks was going to take from him, and he was going to let it happen with no more than the whimper that was escaping his throat.


	34. Chapter 34

Happy New Year to all! :)

Still don't own, still make no money...

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**Chapter 34: The First Move**

Craig stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was a little past five o'clock in the morning. He had fought against waking up when Bobby had pulled him out of the bed just ten minutes before and told him to get dressed. He hadn't slept well through the night, and he knew Bobby hadn't either, though the man didn't say a word about how Craig had tossed and turned all night. He had pulled his arm around Craig a few different times and pulled him close to him, telling him it was okay, and talking quietly to him until the boy would drift off into a state of half sleep. Almost as quickly as Craig would drift off, he'd drift back, and feel a pressure in his shoulders and neck. He would turn in the bed to try to get comfortable, and the whole cycle would start again with him tossing about until he woke his brother.

He had been allowed to go to the rest room so that he could pee and wash his hands and face while his brothers went downstairs to start breakfast. He had combed his hair and brushed his teeth, though once his teeth had been brushed he'd remembered that he'd just have to do it again after he ate. He studied himself in the mirror, wondering if maybe Bobby had over done it as far as the clothes.

Bobby had made him put on good jeans and a dress shirt. He had even had a tie for him to wear, but the tightness around his throat had made him gag, and thankfully Bobby had allowed the tie to be tossed onto the bed. He didn't understand why he had to wear a dress shirt. Did the District Attorney really care what he was wearing? They didn't care about the clothes he was going to walk in with; they wanted to know about what had happened to him when his clothes had been taken from him. He was sure they would be looking past his clothes to try to figure out what he'd looked like when Adam had stripped him, and then set Jordan loose on him to claw and bite at him at will. His body shivered and he struggled to push the fears down and clear his head of the thoughts that were trying to overtake him.

He was supposed to go right downstairs for breakfast as soon as he was done in the rest room, but he didn't think he could eat. He could feel bumble bees buzzing around inside of him and they were stinging at his stomach, swelling up every last bit of free space there. He wanted to go back to his mother's room and crawl into the bed to hide from what was happening.

So instead of making his feet move towards the door he stood there and stared at his reflection, trying to mentally tell himself that he could do this. He could go down to eat, and he could ride to Robert Bradford's office without so much as shedding a tear. He could talk to Robert and then go to the District Attorney's office, and he could do all of this without break apart and looking like a complete fool. The only problem was his self didn't believe a word he was saying to him.

"Craig, get your ass down here, your food is ready, and Jack and Angel still need to get in there." Bobby called from the bottom of the stairs. "Let's go, we ain't got much time here."

He could feel the bees inside of him starting to swarm. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. His stomach felt tight and unsettled. He was sure he could lean over the toilet at that moment and throw up.

"Craig, did you hear me?" Bobby called out, and it sounded as if he were moving up the stairs.

Craig opened his eyes and swallowed down the panic inside, forcing his legs to move towards the door. He was half way there when Bobby came through it, looking a little worried. "You okay?" The man asked.

Craig didn't answer him. He shrugged his shoulders, and couldn't keep the thought out of his head that Bobby knew damn good and well that he wasn't okay, but he was still making him do this. He felt a twinge of the anger pulse into his nerves, but he drove it down with what little bit of logic he had left in him. He knew that Bobby didn't really have a choice either, he knew this was going to be easier than if they waited and let the District Attorney get a warrant, or a subpoena, or whatever the hell he would have to get to question him.

Bobby had dressed before he woke Craig and he was wearing the same shirt and tie he'd worn to Evelyn's funeral. He motioned for Craig to walk out of the rest room ahead of him, not bothering to scold him for not speaking.

Craig walked past his brother and headed down the stairs. He could feel Bobby right behind him as he made his way to the dining room where he found the table filled with scrambled eggs, pancakes and sausage. He sat down in his chair and watched as Bobby filled his plate for him. "I'll get you some milk." The man spoke quietly and headed for the kitchen, where Angel and Jack's voices were drifting about in mumbles.

Craig stared at the pancake on his plate. He loved pancakes, but this morning the thought of putting anything in his stomach made him feel nauseous, especially something heavy and so sweet. He sat back in his seat and picked up his fork. He could hear his brothers in the kitchen, talking quietly. It was obvious that Angel and Jack had already eaten, their places we shy of any setting, and the amount of food left on the table was minimal. He startled slightly when Bobby walked back into the room with a glass of milk. He heard Jack and Angel heading up the stairs loudly about that time.

Bobby sat down in his own chair and put the milk in front of Craig. "Get that eaten before it gets much colder. It's been sitting here waiting for you." He started filling his own plate.

Craig buttered his pancake and poured some syrup on it, and then picked up his fork. He poked around at the cake a few times before scooping up a minimal amount of eggs and reluctantly sliding them into his mouth. He watched Bobby take a bite of his pancake and wished he had the appetite to eat his own. His stomach rolled around on him as he moved to the sausage link on his plate, picking it up with his fingers and tearing an end off. He hadn't used his hands to eat all that much since Thanksgiving, but it seemed to help him now. He chewed slowly, and kept his bites small. He managed to get half the sausage and all of his eggs down, though his stomach didn't appreciate the effort. He poked at the pancake some more, while watching Bobby eat.

"You have to eat Craig. You're gonna wish you had some food on your stomach later." Bobby finally looked at him.

"I can't." Craig felt his voice choke out the words.

Bobby chewed on the food in his mouth and stared at him for a long moment. "Well, you ate the eggs, and part of the sausage. I guess that might be enough for you. But drink the milk kid." He pointed to the glass that had remained untouched.

"I'm gonna get sick." Craig looked down at his plate and continued to poke at the pancake.

"You ain't gonna get sick." Bobby shook his head. "That's just your nerves, and once you have taken your medicine that should settle down some. I'll go get them so you can take them now."

Craig looked at Bobby. "I don't want to take the pills Bobby. Not today." He didn't like the strange feeling the pills gave him. They made him a little groggy, which was why he seemed to sleep so well after being dosed up. They also seemed to numb him, but not all the way. He didn't have the control he wanted after he'd taken the pills. He couldn't keep his thoughts in, and he couldn't control the emotions that seemed to overwhelm him with no warning.

Bobby put his fork down and folded his hands over his plate. He drew in a deep breath and stared hard at the boy. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go without them Craig. You're nerves are about fried as it is, and the doctor wanted you on these pills for a reason." He shook his head as he stood and picked up his plate. "I'll go get them, and you can take them with your milk." He pulled the fork out of Craig's hand and took his plate from in front of him as well.

Minutes later Bobby was holding the pills out in front of him. Craig started to argue again, but didn't have the energy inside to bother with it. Bobby had said he was going to take them, and to argue with him would only delay the inevitable, and make things tenser than they already were.

Craig sat in the chair and watched Bobby clear away the table. He didn't think about offering to help. His mind seemed to be drifting around on him. He wondered what time Jerry would be there, and then he thought about the school work that was waiting for him that he had yet to make a dent in. He wondered if Robert would be in his office that early, as he said he would, or if he would find it difficult to get at work that early. The thoughts all led to another round of 'what if'. What if Robert Bradford didn't show up at all and he had to go in to be questioned with no one there to count on? What if Robert had a wreck on the way to the office and was rushed to the hospital? What if they got there and the District Attorney wouldn't let Robert go in for some reason? What if they got there and the District Attorney was late and they had to wait for hours with his nerves getting worse by the second? What if they…"Hey, did you hear me?" Bobby was waving his hand in front of him to get the boy's attention.

Craig looked up at him. "What?" He asked, trying to pull his mind free of the 'what if' cycle.

"I said, go to the living room and keep an eye out for Jerry." Bobby pointed towards the living room. "He should be here soon. He said a little after six, but he's always early."

Craig managed to get his legs to work and stood slowly. He went to the couch, to sit on his knees facing the window, and watched for Jerry's headlights. He hadn't been there long when Jack came down the stairs. Craig looked over at him for a brief second, and then shifted his gaze back to the outside. His mind flashed a picture of what he'd just seen and he felt his head snap back around to where Jack was standing in the living room doorway. "What the hell did you do?" The boy asked quickly.

Jack's hair was almost as short as Craig's, but not quite. Enough of it had been cut to remove what was left of the paint that had been tainting the strands on the ends. It was combed almost neatly, with some strands taking on a direction of their own choosing so he still had the slightly mussed and spiky look that he liked to sport. He wasn't wearing a t-shirt or baggy sweater; he looked like he was on his way into an office, or church, with black dress pants, a shirt that looked like it had come straight out of Angel's closet and a neck tie that had rose-colored strips that blended into black and grey stripes. He wore a black leather jacket to set it all off.

Jack grinned. "You don't like it?" He shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his clothing. "Well, at least these are all mine." He stuck his foot out to reveal his brown boots.

Craig shrugged his shoulders. It didn't look like Jack, and he didn't like it, but he didn't have the desire to share that with him, at least not at the moment. His brother did look good, but it just wasn't Jack and he didn't like the change, too many other things had changed for him in a short period of time. He shifted his stare back to the window.

"I gotta look like someone important, according to Jerry. We're holding those interviews later today." Jack reminded him. "Don't worry, the hair will grow back. Or at least that's what Sofi said." He muttered the words before turning to walk out of the room, obviously aware that Craig didn't feel comfortable with the look he was sporting.

Craig heard Angel come down the stairs and turned to look at him. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see this brother dressed in the true style of any good hustler, casual but classy. Somehow the last of the paint had been stripped from his head and face and the gold chain from his pocket watch dangling from his dress coat glinted under the ceiling light in the foyer. He flashed a wide smile at Craig and walked towards the kitchen without saying anything.

Seeing Angel's white smile reminded him that he needed to brush his teeth again, but he shrugged the thought off. Maybe he would develop a nasty toothache before they managed to get to Mr. Bradford's office and they would be able to cancel this whole nightmare about to play out in front of him.

Jerry showed up at five minutes before six, and walked into the house with no worry as to how hard he shut the door. Craig had seen him pull up, but hadn't really been paying enough attention to think to yell at Bobby that Jerry was there.

"Hey, what the hell are ya' all doin'?" Jerry called out. "Are any of you clowns ready?"

Jack, Angel and Bobby emerged from the kitchen. "Yeah, we're ready." Bobby called out. He looked at Craig. "I thought I told you to watch for him." He spoke normally.

Craig forced himself up off the couch, giving his brother a quick shoulder shrug in response to his comment.

"Come on, let's get moving. We don't want Bradford sitting there waiting for us." Jerry didn't bother taking off his own coat or gloves. Craig noticed that Jeremiah was wearing clothes similar to what he'd worn to Evelyn's funeral. His black coat looked as if it had just been cleaned, and the black gloves on his hands looked as if they were brand new.

Bobby locked eyes with Craig for a long moment. "Come on kid, let's go." His voice came out quiet. "Look, I gotta special coat for you to wear today." He held out his leather jacket. "You put that on, and you'll know I'm right there with you no matter what." He seemed to be waiting for Craig to take the jacket or say something.

Craig stared at the coat, though it was the jacket that came to Bobby's waist, it would swallow him up when he put it on. He knew Bobby had another coat, the same one he'd worn the day he'd killed Sweet out on the lake of ice; but this was the one his brother seemed to prefer, and he wasn't sure what to think about Bobby holding it out to him.

"Come on now, we ain't got all day." Jerry spoke quietly.

Craig walked over to Bobby and took the jacket. He looked at Bobby for a long moment before he put it on. He could smell his brother in the leather, he didn't know if it was the aftershave the man used when he did shave, but it was Bobby's scent, and it seemed to calm part of his nerves, a little as he started fastening it up the front. He watched as Bobby slipped his other coat on at the same time.

Bobby waited until Craig fastened the coat and then reached out and pulled his arm around him. "You ready?" He spoke quietly.

Craig shook his head slowly. Bobby knew he wasn't ready, and he wasn't about to put on any kind of act. He didn't want to go, his brothers all knew that.

"As ready as you're gonna get, huh?" Bobby forced a smile before he gave him a quick hug and then kept his arm tight around his shoulders to guide him out the door.

The drive was mostly quiet. Craig was surprised at how quiet the streets were at that time of the morning. He'd thought there would be more cars out, but it seemed almost like a ghost town. What few cars they did see all seemed to be moving slow, or maybe it was the fact that everything else seemed to be moving fast. Time itself seemed to be speeding by, and he wished he could do something to stop it or slow it down. If time could stop around him at that very moment, he would never have to do this; this day would never have to happen. He was thankful no one could see him pull the collar of the jacket up to his face and inhale deeply to get the feel of Bobby. He was thankful he would at least have that to hold onto when he was seperrated from the only father he'd ever known.

* * *

Timothy Dearth sat back in his chair. His back was aching and his eyes were burning. Hell, he'd been sitting front of the computer for hours, pecking and punching at the keyboard, trying to get his follow up story finished. The public would want to know as much as they could about a school employee, someone they trusted to keep their children safe, being charged with kidnapping and sexually assaulting a teenager from his own school.

The District Attorney's office and the cops weren't being of much help really. No names and very few details had been released. The matter was still under investigation, though the charges had been brought against Bradley Jordan. The FBI's involvement was quiet vague as well, despite the fact it was well known to be a federal case.

His editor was on him to get more facts and make the whole thing something their paper could dominate. His job was on the line here. He could lose his position, his salary, if he didn't get the story his editor wanted. The boss wanted first hand comments from family and friends, but hell, there was no name for the kid, and Jordan's family wasn't around it seemed; his wife and kids had disappeared, and his parents weren't answering their phone. He'd managed to do a couple of pieces on the ruined life of the man before he had even been found guilty of anything. He'd confessed to shit, but then he refused to plea at his hearing. He needed to be behind bars, but he was at home because of the overcrowding in the jail. Hell, he might have been held under house arrest, and maybe he'd had to pay a pretty penny to get there, but he was still in the comfort of his own home.

Some people could argue that he hadn't been found guilty, and any opinions should be kept out of the paper until the final verdict, but Dearth didn't buy that. He had formed his opinion of the man the first day he heard about the case. He was a sick bastard who needed his dick cut off. That was his opinion, and he though he did try to keep his feelings out of his work, it was difficult.

He sighed as he looked upwards, at the ceiling. "Lord, forgive me." He muttered to himself. He'd found God just three short months before, after his mother had passed away, and now he seemed to slip up in his own thoughts on a daily basis. He'd done quite well until this story hit his desk. Now he found he was mentally thinking of ways to make another man suffer excruciating pain, and he'd had to stop his work and pray to God to forgive him for his evil thought several times throughout the evening. He needed to give it up for the night and just go home. It would still be there for him to struggle with first thing in the morning.

He started to shut down his computer and gather his papers around him. His phone rang loudly against the quiet, dark atmosphere of the large, empty space that was shared by twenty other employees and buzzing with activity during normal business hours.

He had called his wife two hours ago and told her he would be an hour late, that he wanted a chance to try to work in some quiet. He smiled at the thought of his young wife, pregnant with their first child, worrying about him enough to call. He didn't mean to make her worry, but it was nice to have her in his life to do such. He picked up the receiver and grinned as he spoke. "Sorry dear, I lost track of the time. I'm on my way now."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

The grin faded. "Hello?" Dearth asked with a bit of caution. He had expected his wife's voice, since his extension had been dialed directly.

"Mr. Timothy Dearth?" The voice on the other end of the phone was a strange one, a bit hoarse, but it seemed to have a soft spoken quality to it.

"Speaking," Dearth frowned now as his mind prayed hard, God, please, let Katie be okay, please don't let this be a police officer telling me my wife is in the hospital.

"Mr. Dearth, my name is Jeff Jones. I have some information you might be interested in, concerning the Jordan case. You are the one covering that story, correct?" The voice seemed pleasant, but it sent chills down the reporters back.

"Yes, I am." Dearth heard himself speaking. "What kind of information do you have Mr. Jones?"

"I have the name of the kid Jordan raped. I know his name, and I know where he lives." The voice almost sounded cheerful. "How badly do you want that information Mr. Dearth?"

Well, it seemed God was putting some kind of a test in front of him now. He sighed and thought about his editor, and the orders he'd been given. The morals he'd been trying to live by, and the wife at home with a baby on the way, and the need to put food on the table. He grimaced as he spoke the question. "What is it you want in exchange for this information, Mr. Jones?"


	35. Chapter 35

Sorry for the delay, it's been one of those weeks! Let me know what you think, and thanks to all for reading!

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 35: Meetings**

Craig felt his nerves tighten and pulse as they neared Bradford's office. They didn't have to park in the garage half a block over as they had done before, Bradford had arranged for them to park in the garage of the building his office was housed in. Craig was thankful for that, even with his brothers there with him, the idea of walking down the dark streets was not a pleasant one. Being out where he felt exposed was just as frightening as the impending meeting that seemed to be speeding up on him for a devastating crash.

The entire building was dimly lit, and quiet, generating an odd feeling of doom, thickening the air around the boy. Bobby had his arm around his shoulder, but it didn't seem to have its usual effect of making him feel safe. Craig found his hand clutching at Bobby's arm, needing to feel it tighter around him as they made their way through the halls, towards the lawyer's office. Bradford met them in the main hall just outside his firm's door, and led them in, to the same conference room where he'd first met the four elder sons of Evelyn Mercer. He seemed to have been there for a while, with papers and files on the table, spread out in what was probably some sort of organized system for the man, but looked chaotic to the teen.

When Bobby released that hold on the boy to shake hands with Bradford Craig instinctively latched onto his free arm, clinging to it tightly. Bradford pointed to a chair for Craig to sit in, at the corner of the table, next to the piles of papers that the lawyer had been going though.

"You've been here all night Mr. Bradford?" Bobby asked as he pulled the chair out, peeled Craig's hold away from his arm and eased him down to sit before seating himself in the next chair. Craig wanted to reach for Bobby again, but fought the temptation.

Bradford let a small smile show for a short moment. "Yes, actually, I have. I have been reviewing some of the facts on the case, and trying to sharpen myself up. I specialize in family law, and this is just a little bit out of my area of expertise."

Jeremiah, Angel and Jack took chairs on the other side of the table, so that they could all be close enough to hear what was being said. Robert sat at the end of the table and turned his gaze to Craig. He smiled at the boy, apparently seeing the fear that was written across his face like a sign letting the entire world know that he was terrified of what was about to happen that day; perhaps he thought he could ease his fears with a smile, but it wasn't working.

"You are going to do fine Craig. They only want a statement. I have your medical records, and the police and FBI reports that could be released from the case. What they need is a statement from you about the level of involvement Jordan had with the whole scheme, and what he may have done beyond helping Adam Macks kidnap you and move you across the state line. I will make it quite clear that you were heavily drugged, and that some details are vague for you, and the statements we have from several doctors do back that up, so you don't fret over not being able to answer some of their questions." Bradford's voice was quiet, and slow. Craig knew that was how he spoke naturally, though he felt as if the man was sensing his doubt about the whole meeting they were about to head out to. "You are not on trial here; they know you were a victim." Robert added the last part with a little more conviction in his tone.

"Why can't I just write something down for you and you can take it to them?" Craig asked quietly, praying that somehow Bradford would agree that it was a good idea, though he was sure that it had been suggested by one of his brothers and shot down with little thought.

"It has to be an official statement, witnessed and recorded by representatives of the District Attorney's office, or it isn't admissible in court." Bradford shook his head. "I wish it could be that easy Craig, I truly do. I know this is difficult, and I will do all that I can to make it a little easier for you."

"Why can't Bobby go in with me?" Craig pushed. God, this was getting harder and harder to face with every minute that passed.

"They feel that a family member, especially one with Bobby's, umm, let's say, reputation, could be influential on your statement." Bradford kept his voice quiet. "Bobby does have a colorful past, and his records have been reviewed."

"Then why couldn't I go in with him?" Jeremiah spoke up from across the table.

Bradford looked over at him. "No offense Jeremiah, but with the recent events surrounding your business dealings, and the reputation you have carried over from you younger years, your presence could be viewed in as negative a fashion as Bobby's." He diverted his gaze to Angel and Jack. "The same goes for all of you."His words flowed quickly that time, as if he were putting an end to that suggestion before it was carried any further. He looked back to Craig. "It's just you and me kid." He forced a smile. "But it's going to be fine. I would like for you to take a practice run with me, if you think you might be able to?"

Craig stared at the man, not sure at first what he was trying to ask. He didn't seem to be able to hold onto the meaning of most of the words that had been spoken. They seemed to drift around him, and though he could hear the sounds, he couldn't hear the actual words.

"I have a list of general questions that they will probably ask you. You and I can work through the whole thing a few times before we leave for the courthouse to meet with the people from the D.A.'s office. I doubt the man will be there himself, but it is possible, since this is such a high profile case." Robert seemed to be waiting for a response from Craig, but the boy was at a loss for what to say. He was lost in the words 'high profile case'. He didn't understand what Robert meant, but he was sure 'high profile' could only mean that it was on the news, and in the papers. That thought felt like a knife cutting into his gut.

"I thought if you could get a little comfortable talking to me that perhaps it would be easier when they started asking the same questions." Robert Bradford continued talking while Craig was still trying to get his mind to catch up to the words. Robert glanced at Bobby and then returned his gaze to Craig. "Can you try that for me Craig?" He pressed the boy to speak to him by asking the direct question.

Craig's mind felt as if it were about to reel on him. He had moved past the realization that Jordan's trial was being watched closely by the public, and onto the next piece of information that seemed to stab at him. He hadn't considered having to go to the courthouse. He had thought they would be going to an office somewhere, some place that would feel safer than being exposed in a public building. He felt a shiver run through him and his throat tightened up, refusing to let him voice the negative response that was building up there. No, he didn't want to talk to Bradford about any of what Jordan had done to him. No, he didn't want to sit there and tell him the details of how that man had hurt him, and he damn sure didn't want to go through a whole list of questions that he had.

It was going to be hard enough to live through the real questions coming from total strangers, talking about it with his mother's former boyfriend would not make it any easier for him, if nothing else that would be harder than talking to strangers. He wanted to run out of the room, and escape the feeling that was slowly swelling up inside of him, pressing against his chest and making it hard to breathe.

"Craig?" Bobby leaned closer to him. "I think it sounds like a good idea. You can talk to Mr. Bradford here while we are with you. And maybe it will make it easier to do when you're giving the real statement." He spoke calmly.

Craig wanted to look up at Bobby at that moment and be able to tell him about the fears growing inside of him. He knew he wasn't going to be able to go through with any of this, he knew it and felt it, and he couldn't say anything to anyone. His brothers would only tell him that it was going to be fine, that he would do fine; that was what they kept telling him. Hell, none of them understood the feelings rising up in him, and they never could, he didn't even understand them himself. Instead of saying anything to his brother, he let his gaze drop down to his hands in his lap.

"I would like to try this without all of you in the room." Robert interjected quietly. "He's going to have to do this without any of you with him, I think now is a good time to acclimate him to that."

Craig kept his eyes fixed on his hands. The itch that was coming up on the back of his left hand started out barely noticeable, coming up from the inside, just like the emotions that were building in him. He scratched at it, only for a second, and it seemed to push it back. As soon as he stopped scratching it returned, a little more intense. He scratched at it again, while Jeremiah said something to Bradford that he didn't quite catch. He heard the voices, but the words were nothing more than mist drifting past him. His mind tried to picture what it was going to be like when they got to the courthouse, and he was taken to a room, away from his brothers, and forced to relive the moments in that basement, in the dark, with Jordan telling him what to do, and yelling at him because he wasn't doing something the right way.

Bobby's hand came down across the top of his right hand, pulling it back so that it couldn't scratch at the itch. "Did you hear me?" He asked quietly.

Craig looked up at Bobby and shook his head slowly, no; he hadn't heard a damn word. He wasn't exactly sure now what he'd been thinking about, but his mind was stuck on the memory of Jordan's shadow above him, grabbing at him, and leaning down to lick at his face.

"I'm going to be right outside. Mr. Bradford is going to try asking you some questions, okay?" Bobby didn't look worried. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look worried, and Craig wondered if the man could sense anything that he was feeling. He didn't want to do any of this, and at that moment something inside of him was telling him that no one, not even his brothers, cared about how hard this was for him. They didn't care, they just expected him to do it, and get it over with, and then go on as if nothing wrong was happening. It sparked a fire inside of him that seemed to burn deep, and hot, and he felt almost betrayed by Bobby, though he hugged the man's coat more snugly around him.

Craig managed to nod his head, despite the churning inside of him. He just had to hold it together a little longer. He had to keep his feelings separated for a little while, that was the only way he was going to make it through any of the talking, and questions, and the stares that he was going to be feel boring through him once they were in the real meeting an hour later.

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "You keep your hands separated, no scratching." He moved to stand up from his chair. "And you yell if you need me, I'll be right outside the door." He leaned down and planted a quick kiss on the top of Craig's head before walking towards the door where Jeremiah was standing.

It wasn't until that moment that Craig realized all of his brothers had left the table. They were leaving him alone, and he could feel the panic starting to burn from under his skin. He heard the door close loudly signalling he was alone and had to do what Bradford was asking him to do. He looked up at Robert and tried to convince himself that there was no reason for him to be that worried. This was Robert. He knew him, and he trusted him, and obviously his brothers trusted him. He watched as Robert picked up some paper and a pencil, and slid it across the table. "I thought you might like to try drawing some of this, and you can do that if it helps." He didn't smile, but he did look concerned.

Craig picked up the pencil and stared at the paper for a long moment, while he waited for Robert to say something else. He felt the bees starting to buzz his stomach again, churning acid around as they did.

"Are you ready?" Robert asked.

Craig looked back to the man. "No." He muttered. "But that doesn't really matter, does it?" He could feel the tremble in his voice. It wasn't right for anyone to make him do this. It shouldn't be allowed, and someone should stop it. That was what he was thinking, and his thoughts caught hold of his words and snuck out in the sound of them.

Robert smiled. "You know, Craig, I thought for a while that I was going to get to be your new father. Did you know that?" He let out a long sigh. "I had made plans in my head for asking your mother to marry me when the time was right. I almost asked her that last evening we spent together, but she was so concerned about other things, with Jeremiah; and I thought it would be better to wait until all of that dirty business was over and done with. But, I wanted to be a parent to you, just as much as I wanted to be a husband for her." He let a small smile escape him as he seemed to be remembering a moment in time locked up somewhere in his mind. "I know you probably think that I'm a crazy old man, rambling on here, but I do have a point. That being, even though I will never be a father to you, that position has apparently been filled, I do care about you, and I won't do anything to make this harder than it already is. I know it's not easy, but you have your brothers standing behind you, and I'm going to be right there with you. I would never let them do anything to you. You are the son of the woman I loved, and I will not let them talk to you out of line, or pressure you in any way. Do you understand me?"

Craig felt the tears run down his cheeks, and he nodded his head slowly as the words seemed to sink in.

"Okay, you let me know when you think you are ready to give this a try." Robert leaned forward on the table slightly.

Craig let the tears fall for a moment longer before sniffing at them so that his eyes could clear. "Okay." He barely got the word to pass his lips, but he sucked in a deep breath and from somewhere deep inside of him, much deeper than the pain, a calm feeling seemed to blanket the rest of the emotions that were building into a storm. The blanket calmed them some, and eased his nerves. The itching in his hand seemed to stop, at least for the time being, and he looked at Robert. "I'm ready." He forced himself to say the words and braced his mind against the first question that Robert was going to ask.

* * *

Jeff Jones sat in the booth of the small all night diner sipping on a cup of coffee, waiting patiently, well as patiently as possible for a man with Adam Macks lurking under his skin. He had finished his business with Jordan before he made the call to the reporter, arranging to meet up with him. He had left the house, leaving Jordan to lick his wounds while he took care of the important business.

Jones did wince slightly at the memory of the smarting bruise that had been left across Jordan's eye when Macks had cracked that belt across his face. He knew that had to hurt, but in Macks' defense, the man cowering in the corner when he'd left was never going to survive prison, if he actually got there. He would be dead within a week if he didn't grow some balls.

The door of the diner opened up banging against the bell that hung above it and causing it to clink loudly. A young man, in his early thirties walked through, looking around as if he was nervous. Hell that had to be Dearth. He wasn't expecting the man to be so young, there had been a quality in his voice that made him sound much older over the phone. Maybe it was the calmness that had been there, or the undertone of being completely bored with the story that he'd been keeping up with, he didn't think he could pinpoint the exact reason, but he had most definitely sounded much older than his years. He hadn't expected a blond haired, blue eyed kid, but a graying middle aged beer gut in a suit. Well, this might be interesting after all.

The young man glanced down his way and Jones held up a hand to let him know he was the person he was looking for, at least he thought he was.

Dearth stepped slowly across the mostly empty establishment and came to a halt at the table. "Mr. Jones?" He asked quietly, well it wasn't as if there were tables full of people this time of the night, so it had to be pretty damn obvious who he was.

Jones nodded his head and silently motioned to the seat on the opposite side of the table. "Mr. Dearth." He purposely kept his voice quiet, and didn't allow his anticipation to filter across over the words. He didn't want this guy to know just how excited he was to be able to share his side of what appeared to be a big story in town. Here it was three o'clock in the fucking morning, and this fool was so anxious for the information he was about to give to him that he'd met him in this quiet, out of the way diner, away from any crowds, or protection.

Dearth pulled a paper bag out of the pocket of his tan coat and dropped onto the table before sitting down on the bench opposite of Jones. Either the kid was naïve, or just plain stupid. Someone should probably tell him it's not a good idea to come to these kinds of meetings alone, with no one to watch your back, and that it was rude to drop the payment being offered for the information onto the table in front of the person holding the information that might be able to make or break a good career in journalism.

Jones sat back in his seat and squared his stare down on the young man. "Is that what I think it is?" He kept his voice quiet as he pointed to the bag.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, this is for my wife. She called and she's having some cravings." The young man opened up the bag and pulled out a can of sardines in mustard sauce, and chocolate bar with almonds. "She's six months pregnant, and this seems to be what she craves." He shoved them back into the bag and looked at Jones. "I got your money, but I didn't bring it here. I have it someplace safe." He drew in a shaky breath, letting his nerves show. He didn't seem to want to be there right then.

"So, how am I supposed to get my money then?" Macks questioned, not liking the games being played him right then. Hell, he hadn't counted on this, and he wasn't happy about feeling as if he'd been screwed.

"My boss wasn't too happy about this little set up, and he's outside right now, with the money. If the information you give me is good enough, then we can go out and he'll pay you." Dearth swallowed hard, he looked more uncomfortable than Jordan did when Jones had left him at the house.

Jones managed a smile as he considered that maybe the kid in front of him was naïve and stupid, but his boss apparently was seasoned and knew what the fuck he was doing. "Okay, I'll drop you a little ditty." He nodded his head. "The kid went to the same school where Jordan worked. He was adopted by some old bitch, illegally, and his real father was trying to get him back, he involved Jordan in his plans." He seemed proud of the facts he'd laid out there for the man.

"That's nothing we don't already know, Mr. Jones. That's old news." Dearth shook his head, looking a bit disappointed. "The boy's real father, name being withheld by the authorities, kidnapped him, and with Jordan's help, he moved him across the state line, down into Ohio. His older brothers went after them, and caught up to them, killing the father, and alerting the police to the situation. That has all been released to the press by the District Attorney's office, the FBI, and local law enforcement. We need names, and details, or your information is useless to us."

Jones reached for his coffee and took a long sip. "Okay, how about his father's name. Adam Macks." He grinned, feeling sly and cunning. "The man only wanted what was his, rightfully. The kid was his, and he should have been with his father."

Dearth looked interested. "What about the kid's name?" He pushed, a looked of expectation crossing his features.

"Oh, no, nothing more from me until I see some money from you, and I mean, a good bit of money now. You want to play games with me and that's fine, but the price just went up." Jones took another drink of his coffee and looked for the old bitty behind the counter reading her magazine. "Hey, I need more coffee here." He called out, waving to her. He looked at Dearth. "Did you want any coffee? Maybe you could get one to go, to give to your boss?" He suggested.

"No, thank you, I don't need any, and he doesn't drink the stuff." Dearth shook his head.

Jones fell silent as the waitress walked to the table holding half a pot of coffee in her hands. He watched as she filled his cup. Her wrinkled hands shook slightly, but it wasn't from any kind of fear, it was from old age. Her eyes looked tired, and part of Jones felt a bit of pity for her, but the part of him that was controlled by Macks dismissed the emotion quickly, warning him that feeling something for another person had gotten them into a situation once before that Macks had to get them out of. He gave the woman a small smile and a quiet, "Thank you," as she walked away, telling Macks that when they did leave he was going to tip the woman decent. Who the hell cared if all he had was coffee, it was good coffee, and he was sure she could use the money. It wasn't as if she was raking in the money on the night shift in that hell hole.

Dearth witnessed the exchange, and seemed honestly surprised at the gentle nature that seemed to come across from Jones as he dealt with the elderly woman pouring his coffee. Once she was out of earshot the younger man smiled. "I can see I'm going to have a hard time figuring you out Mr. Jones." He shook his head.

Jones looked at Dearth and scowled at the thought of someone trying to figure anything out about him. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I was sure you were lowlife scum, out to make some profit, wanting to feed information to the press, and screw up a kid's life more than it had already been screwed up. I had actually decided to dislike you and distrust anything you had to tell me. Just when I thought you're motives were clear, you actually show some compassion for the woman pouring your coffee, saying thank you, and giving her a look, as if you understand she's too old to be in here at this time of night just so she can take home a few pennies." He let out a sigh and seemed to be thinking a little harder than he needed to be. "Scum don't care what kind of hard times other people go through, they are out for only themselves. So maybe you should tell me the whole story, tell me why the hell you don't care if you put Jordan's victim through hell, but you have compassion for that waitress over there?" He only half pointed towards the counter where the woman had returned to her reading.

Jones could feel Macks inside of him, smiling at the idea that Dearth actually thought he was above lowlife scum. Hell, maybe showing some compassion for other people had its purpose, when it was done at the appropriate time. He wanted to give Macks a big 'told ya so', but that wouldn't do much to impress the reporter on the other side of the table at that moment. Hell, the gloating would have to happen later, when they were alone. Jones let Mack's smile cross his mouth, and he looked at Dearth. "Hell, maybe the kid liked what he got. Maybe he asked for it, and wanted it. You don't know what the hell went on down in that basement, you weren't there."

"You were?" Dearth asked the question slowly, carefully, as if he thought he might be treading on unstable ground.

"Not personally, but someone very close to me was." Jones felt himself chuckle a bit at the idea that the someone he was referring to was inside his head right then watching every expression that crossed the reporter's face and listening to every word being passed between them. Not information he needed to share right then.

Dearth nodded his head slowly. "Okay, I'll get you more money Mr. Jones. I'll make sure my editor knows this is worth a good chunk, but you gotta give me a little more." He was hooked, that was obvious.

Jones tried to decide just how much more he would give him right then. Hell, he could see a greater opportunity unfolding before him.


	36. Chapter 36

As always thanks for reading, special thanks to those of you who review, and please let me know what you think :)

Do not own, make no money (still poor)

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**Chapter 36: Conlict and Ethics**

Bobby stood outside the door of the conference room, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of the wood frame, eyes fixed steadily on the handle, listening for any sound of distress emanating from behind the door. He hadn't been sure he could actually walk out of the room, leaving Craig sitting there looking so damn lost, but he'd managed to. Bradford had said they needed to get Craig ready for being separated from his brothers to talk about the whole nightmare he'd been forced to live through, using a fancy word to get his point across, but the meaning was the same.

In reality, Craig wasn't the only one who needed 'acclimated' to the whole fucking idea of being taken to a room without Bobby next to him, to answer questions that were going to dredge up the already festering mixture of anger, pain and fear. This little practice run of Roberts was testing Bobby's ability to allow his little brother to go through this shit, testing it hard. He wanted nothing more than to open the door, walk into the room, grab a hold of Craig and promise him he would put an end to the shit now and he wasn't going to force him to do this.

Jerry was standing with his back to the wall right next to the door, next to him, staring at him as if he were ready to stop him from opening the door if he reached for the chrome handle. He looked as worried as Bobby felt. The man strained his ears to hear anything at all from inside the room. He couldn't hear a sound, and that worried him more than if he would have heard Craig's crying. The silence weighing down the air around him seemed to press against the rest of his senses, tingling right down to his fingers. His ears were ringing, and that didn't help.

He finally forced his body to move, to turn and look at Angel and Jack, who had taken seats on the top of the receptionist desk that was positioned about ten feet to his right. They both wore the same face of concern that he'd seen on Jerry and was sure was etched into his own features. This was, by all rights, the first time Craig had been separated from all of them at once since he'd been rescued from that burned out house and his frozen fate at the pond.

This was the first time he was going to be talking about what had happened to him with any one besides them, and he hadn't reacted well when it had been his brothers listening and dragging him against his will through all of that shit, having to relive it. He'd come through it in the end, but only because they knew how to help him, what was this going to do to him? How was he going to be after Robert, and the District Attorney's office was through with him? Would he be able to recover from this or would he be so far lost in it that he would never be able to get past it?

Bobby had battled with the pros and cons of getting Craig professional help, and now he was kicking himself hard for not giving in and getting him in to see someone who was more qualified to see him through this battle against the torture Adam Macks had inflicted on him. He felt his pulse quicken as his mind wondered about the decisions he'd made in the past few weeks, and more directly in the past few days. If he'd gotten him into a psychologist, maybe they could have gotten him out of this bullshit by submitting a statement saying that due to the psychological trauma inflicted on him he was not capable of talking to them yet. Maybe they would have allowed that doctor to speak for him, maybe….

"Hey, you need to sit down, and calm down. He's gonna need you to have some sense about you when he comes out of that room." Jerry spoke quietly from next to him, looking at him, knowingly. "He's gonna be fine Bobby, you know that, but you need to be ready to help him be fine. He needs you now more than ever." Jerry pointed to a chair closer to the desk where Jack and Angel were seated.

Angel was holding a picture frame in his hand, looking at a photograph that had been resting on the desk. "You know, he ain't screamed out, or yelled for you yet, so maybe this ain't gonna be so bad." He put the picture down and directed his attention to Bobby. "Don't fret over milk that ain't been spilt yet." He shook his head.

Jack nodded his head. "Maybe Bradford's idea is a good one. I mean, he knows him, and if he can say it to him here, then maybe he'll be able to look at him, and concentrate on only him, when they are asking him the same questions later." He kept his voice quiet, but there was a quiver in the words, faltering slightly, as if he didn't really believe what he was saying, but was trying to be supportive, and positive in some way.

Bobby nodded his head and opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't come. He turned back to the door and stared again, ignoring the chair that Jerry had pointed out to him. Ignoring the words his brothers were trying to offer. He wanted to be in that room with the kid, wanted to hold his hand, or put his arm around him and let him know that he wasn't going to abandon him to the badgering of complete strangers. But he didn't have a choice, here, and he knew that. He wasn't going to get what he wanted.

He had no control over what was going to happen, and it was eating him up inside. He hated not having the control. He hated not knowing what was going to happen next because he couldn't plan it out, or make it what he wanted. He'd spent his younger years with no control over his life, and it had filled him with anger. He had been passed from one foster home to another, left to his own resources, to survive on his own most of the time. He had never felt loved, or as if he were a part of a real family until Evelyn Mercer found him, and understood him, and dealt with him only as a true mother could.

That had been the turning point in his life. Evelyn had taught him he could be in control and have some say in how he lived, even if she was his mother, and had the final say in most of his decisions when he was younger. She had taught him to make the right decisions, well, most of the time anyway. Hell, she had made sure he knew right from wrong, and once he was at an age where he had to make those choices himself he knew when he made the wrong choices, and he knew when he went to jail that even though his mother was disappointed she still loved him. She would sigh and tell him she hoped he would keep in mind the bad choices, so as not to repeat them. The whole point was they were his choices, and he had the freedom to fuck them up. Before Evelyn, he hadn't known there were choices that he could make; they had always been made for him with little regard to his well being. That had only pissed him off and drove him to make the bad choices when he was younger. The bad choices being stealing, and lying, and fighting everyone who came near him.

He understood how Craig was feeling, no control, and no say in what was happening to him. At least with Bobby calling the shots he could make sure the kid wasn't being hurt, or he should be able to, under normal circumstances. It wasn't working out the way it was supposed to and it was pissing him off the more he thought about it. He was sure that he could hear his mother's voice somewhere in the corridors of the building they were standing in, "Temper temper."

Bobby looked around him, down the dimly lit halls, looking for the woman that had changed his life, his brother's lives. He knew if she was there that somehow none of this would feel as damn awful as it did. As Craig had said earlier, she seemed to be able to make things okay by saying the simplest of words. Of course he knew that as simple as the words always sounded, they seemed so deep, and held so much more meaning than when you heard them. It wasn't until you thought about them with true desire to understand them that their real meaning seemed to hit you.

"What's taking so long? I mean, how many questions can he have?" Jack asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the door.

"He was going to go through the questions with Craig a couple of times, wanting to get him used to saying the words, and talking about it with him." Jerry looked over at Jack.

"But it's been forever." Jack muttered.

"It ain't been forever; it's only been about twenty minutes." Jerry managed a small smile. "It's pretty quiet in there, that's a good sign, right? No mental meltdown, no hysterical screaming, and that's what we were all ready to face, right?" He diverted his attention to Bobby. "I think he's handling it better than we are at this very minute." He commented.

Bobby looked at Jerry, and thought about his words. He was right. They had been in the hall for a little while now, and there had been no desperate cries from the other side of the door. No little brother crying out for him or for his protection. "Yeah, right," He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of his little brother being able to deal with the questions Bradford was asking him. He wanted Craig to be able to get through the whole thing, but he had come to notice the pattern. The kid would wall up the emotions and hide them. He might be talking, he might be giving the man every detail of the time he'd been held by Adam Macks; and the assault from Jordan, but he was hiding the emotions of it all, locking them inside, deep, somewhere safe, where they couldn't reach him. He knew if Craig was doing that then he was taking a giant step backwards, and that's what he feared most out of all of this.

The door in front of Bobby opened and Robert startled slightly as he found himself staring into Bobby's eyes. "Well, I suppose I should have guessed that you would be very close by." He remarked with a nervous smile. "You didn't trust me?" He asked the question carefully.

Bobby was as surprised to have the door in front of him open so abruptly, and even more surprised by blunt question posed to him. "Well, no, it was that I didn't trust you, I just didn't…." He was at a loss for what to say.

"It's okay Bobby. He did very well in fact." Robert glanced back to Craig who was still sitting in his chair with his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. "He's a little shaken I believe. You can have a few minutes with him before we leave." He stepped away from the door, clearing the path for Bobby.

Bobby stared at the teen for a moment. His cheeks were streaked with tears, and his eyes looked swollen. Maybe he wasn't holding back the feelings all of this was bringing to the surface. Maybe he wouldn't wall them all up and hide from them until this was over. There seemed to be some hope that he wouldn't hold it all in only to blow up uncontrollably once his ordeal was over.

Craig was staring towards the window, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Robert had left the table. He allowed his right hand to pull away from his stomach long enough to wipe at the tears tracing his cheeks. He sniffed loudly and Bobby couldn't keep himself from moving towards him quickly. "Hey, kid, Mr. Bradford said you did real good." He spoke as he stepped across the floor, closing the gap between him and the teenager.

"It hurts." Craig didn't look up as Bobby reached him.

Bobby was surprised by the statement, but understood it. He grabbed Craig's arms and pulled him from the chair. He allowed his instincts to take over and he pulled Craig to him, wrapping his arms tight around him. "I know it does, and I'm sorry you gotta feel it." He spoke quietly, welcoming the boy's need to hang onto him. He felt Craig's arms entwine around his neck and he gave him a gentle squeeze. "It's half over, right?" He was trying to sound positive, though the words sounded foolish as they escaped him. "I love you Craig, and once you get through this, you won't have to worry about it anymore, I promise."

He was surprised that Craig didn't respond to the words. The boy felt almost limp in his arms, though he was holding onto him, and sobbing. It was as if the strength had been drained out of him, and that thought worried the man. He had felt the strength in his brother before, a strength deep down that Craig wasn't even aware of, but now it seemed as if he had used it up and was about to tap the reserve completely. "You remember one thing Craig, no matter what happens, I'm only a yell away. You can yell for me, and I'll bust down any door separating us. You got that?"

Craig nodded his head, but the effort in it felt weak to Bobby. The kid was giving up something inside in order to survive this, and the man wasn't sure what it was. He could feel it, but he couldn't identify it, and it scared him more than anything else had up to that point. "You're my kid. You're mine, and I'll be damned if anyone is going hurt you. You remember that too." He spoke quickly before Jerry, Angel and Jack made it to their side.

"You ready to head out?" Jerry rested a hand on Craig's back.

Craig didn't respond, but Bobby looked at Jerry and shook his head slowly. "Let's give him just a few minutes Jerr'." He looked back down at the top of Craig's head. "We got time to give him." He spoke quietly, feeling a little better now that he was able to hold his brother, and feel as if he'd regained a small amount of control over what was going on around the kid.

"Yes, there is time." Robert stepped up to the table and started gathering the papers spread out there into neat stacks. He reached under the table for a brief case and started sliding the documents into them. "I am going to take these with me, and perhaps they can allow them to be admissible, I don't know." He held up newly drawn images of shadows with large teeth and claws looming on the page, and the graphic illustrations were quite clearly Craig's work, illustrating the harm that Jordan had inflicted on him while in that cold basement.

There really hadn't been that much time that had passed between the horrible nightmare that all of them had shared and lived through, and where they were now. At the same time it seemed as if it had been a lifetime ago that Bobby had been making the wild dive down the dock, reaching for the boy's arms to catch him before he fell completely into the freezing water below. Even Christmas felt as if it had been a lifetime ago. It seemed so much happened and changed in that short time.

Bobby wondered how anything could ever feel close to normal again, and as he thought about this, he questioned the effects it was having on Craig, deep inside, where the boy seemed to be able to hide everything. If it all seemed so life changing to a full grown man, one who mostly had his head on straight, then how must a fourteen year old view it all, and how could he deal with it? It was if he was able to see that for the first time since all the shit had started breaking loose under their feet a month earlier, when their mother died. He had been thinking that he could get Craig though anything thrown at them, but now he wasn't so sure. He hated that feeling, and didn't want to deal with it at that moment. Hell, he didn't have time to ponder it all right then. He would have to wait, and let his mind return to this new reality later, once the business at hand was in the past.

Robert finished filling the case and fastened it closed carefully. "I need to pick some more papers up from my office. I will be back shortly. I think we should probably be leaving then." He looked at Bobby questioningly, apparently waiting for a response.

"Yeah, we should be ready then." Bobby nodded his head.

Robert Bradford carried his case with him as he left the brothers alone in the room.

"Hey, you ready to stop crying yet?" Bobby looked down at Craig, who was still sniffling.

Craig didn't respond to the question, but he let his hold on his brother loosen and pulled back enough that Bobby could let his left arm down. He gently cupped the boy's chin with his left hand to lift his face upward so that he could see it. He wasn't expecting the absolute devastation written there, in the young eyes. "You're okay?" He asked quietly, not sure he would believe the boy if he said yes.

Craig just sniffed again and tried to turn his face away from him, as if he didn't want his brother to look at him.

"Hey, you can talk to us, remember. You can tell us how bad it hurts, and we'll do what we can to help." Bobby glanced up at Jerry who was pulling a small pack of tissues out of his coat pocket. God only knew how Jerry had even thought to carry tissues in his pocket, hell that was just wrong. But he reached for the pack that Jerry was offering. "We'll have to put you up for mother of the year award Jerr'." He tried to joke.

"Yeah, you laugh, but when you have little ones, you learn to be prepared." Jerry laughed along with him and let him take the tissues.

Bobby managed to pull a few of the thin sheets from the pack and wiped at Craig's cheeks for a moment before giving them to him to finish the task himself. He knew, no matter what he said to the boy, that the worst of it was about to come. Yeah, he'd managed to get through talking to Bradford, but he knew this man, and it wasn't as if it felt as intrusive as it was going to feel when he was being questioned by total strangers who were digging for the truth. They might just dig a little deeper than he was comfortable with. Bobby prayed hard at that moment that someone from above would be watching over him when they got to the courthouse and they were again separated. It was going to be more official there, and more intimidating. Bobby just hoped someone in that room with Craig would have the sense God gave them not to push the kid past a point of no return.

* * *

Timothy Dearth walked slowly to his car. His boss had dropped him off with the intentions of going home to shower, grab a quick nap, and then coming right back in within a few hours. He wanted the story ready for print for the evening edition. He was happy with what they had gotten out of Jones. The kid's name, his father's name, and the recent history of what had happened with his adoptive family; it was all there, on the tape recorder. Hell, he remembered the story about Evelyn Mercer, and how her death had eventually tied into gangster activity connected to her son's business dealings just a few short weeks ago, but it hadn't been big news, nothing really new. Victor Sweet's death had made better news than the death of an old woman. Now though, the whole story seemed to take on new meaning, after what Jones had emptied out onto the recorder.

Dearth reached his car and unlocked the door easily before climbing inside. Hell, he felt wrong. He felt so damn wrong inside. He looked up at the ceiling of his car and sighed. "God, help me figure out what to do with this." He spoke quietly. "I can't print this; I can't put this out there for the world to see, not without hurting people." He closed his eyes and lowered his head, thinking about the ethics of his job that he'd learned in his college days. He knew he needed to confirm the facts of this story with other sources, though his boss seemed to feel that what they had was plenty. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the recorder. He hit the play button and listened to Jones' calm, precise words. He needed to confirm them. He needed to question police, and make contact with the Mercer family, no matter what his editor said. He needed to be certain that he wrote this story the right way. If what Jones had told them was true, there was a human interest story here. There was more to it than a man kidnapping and raping a kid from his school, there was so much more to it, and Dearth wanted to know what it was.

His job was on the line; his family's own well being was on the line. He started the engine of the car and put it in gear to back out of his parking space. He needed to talk to his wife, that's what he needed to do. She was his rock, his anchor. She would help him see the right path to follow, she always did. Besides, she was sitting at home, waiting for her sardines and chocolate.


	37. Chapter 37

This didn't turn out the way I had planned, but let me know what you think and thanks to all for reading :)

Legal stuff still counts...

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**Chapter 37: Mr. Porter**

Craig rode in the back seat of Jerry's car, tucked safely between Bobby and Angel. His insides felt like Jelly, and his brain felt like it had been through a meat grinder. He was past the fear of what was happening, far past the fear. The time he'd spent with Bradford behind the closed door was nothing but a blur to him. He couldn't remember exactly what all he'd said, or what he'd drawn, though he knew he'd drawn out images and feelings. They had formed on the paper without any kind of effort from him. He had felt his mind pull back as something else took over, and now he felt as if he'd just been on a wild roller coaster ride, being spun around and turned upside down over and over again, only to be dropped onto his feet to try to wall around with all of his senses turned around in every other direction except the one he was facing.

Bobby was holding his arm around him, letting him curl up close to him in the seat. The city lights were whirring by against the morning sky that was starting to brighten as the sun rose, blazing odds shades of pink, purple and orange against the clouds and the haze that hung over Detroit. Though he knew where they were heading he didn't seem to be able to grasp that he was going anywhere. He fell his heart thumping in his chest hard, but not racing, and his when his brothers spoke he could hear their voices, but the words didn't seem to sink in instantly, it took him a few seconds to catch up to the words, and their meaning. It became easier to ignore them completely and just hold onto Bobby and hide from the fate someone else had decided for him.

It almost seemed as if he'd barely settled into the back seat of the car when he felt Angel exiting the door on his side, and Bobby was tugging at him to pull him out the other door. He heard Bobby speaking to him, but he had no idea what he was saying. He allowed his brother to pull him free of the car, and watched him give the door a push to close it. He heard the click of the locks activated by Jerry's remote and realized Jerry was standing close to them. He felt Bobby drop his arm around him again, holding him close, as Angel and Jack rounded the front of the car to stand with them. The four men started talking, but the boy didn't seem to hear the words. He wondered why they were standing there, talking quietly, in the parking lot just outside the courthouse, until he realized Bradford was pulling his car into the empty space next to Jerry's car. They had been waiting for Robert, and once he realized that he wondered why he couldn't figure it out before. He knew they were going to be going inside with Robert, the man was going to be the only person allowed to go in with him when they started reaching into his brain for answers that he wasn't sure he could give.

Robert got out of his car and locked it up tight before turning to them. "Well, are we ready?" He asked, looked pointedly at Craig.

Craig fixed his eyes on his feet, not wanting to look at Robert, not after what he'd told him back at his office. The man knew about him now, knew what he'd done with Jordan, and even some of what he'd done with his own father. He was sure of that. His mind wasn't allowing him to remember details of everything he'd said now; only that he felt ashamed to feel Robert's gaze on him.

Bobby gave Craig a slight squeeze. "I think we're ready." He answered the man quietly.

Craig felt Bobby pulling him towards the walkway that led to a side entrance of the courthouse. He could see Robert ahead of them, leading the way. Bobby was on his right, holding his arm around his shoulders as if it would shield him against the eyes of the few people that were moving around them. Another brother was on his left, though he wasn't sure which one. He had his eyes focused on the ground in front of him, concentrating on the even squares of concrete beneath his feet, and not letting his feet hit the cracks separating each perfect block. An old rhyme echoed in his head, one that Evelyn Mercer had taught him not long after he'd come to live with her. 'Step on the crack and break your mother's back'. He wasn't sure why it was repeating over and over again in his head, but he kept his feet moving to the rhythm of it for fear that if he stopped thinking of the rhyme his feet would stop moving.

Robert reached the thick wooden door and pulled it open. Bobby pulled Craig back slightly, slowing him down and messing up the beat his mind had been pounding out for his feet to move to. It was enough that Craig looked up and watched Jerry, Angel and Jack move through the door ahead of them. When Bobby pulled on Craig to guide him past the door way the boy froze. On the other side of the door was nothing but doom and despair waiting on him. His feet stuck to the sidewalk, and his legs stiffened up. He tried to pull back, ready to bolt in the other direction, but Bobby was ready for him it seemed, his hand moving to grab hold of his arm firmly. Bobby didn't pull on him, or force him to move.

"You take a second Craig, everything's gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine. It's almost over with." Bobby spoke quietly. "We'll just wait until you're ready. You take a deep breath and let me know." He seemed sure that he didn't have to hold the boy after a moment, and let his arm drape back around his shoulders.

Bradford held the door and didn't say a word. He seemed as patient as Bobby, though it shouldn't have been surprising coming from him.

Craig felt the bees starting to swarm around in his stomach and he felt bile rise in his throat. "I'm gonna get sick." He barely managed to choke the words out.

Bobby didn't hesitate; he pulled him backwards, towards remnants of snow on the brown and muddy landscaping on their left side and turned Craig towards a trash can that was sitting there. Craig wasn't able to get to the can, he leaned over and his breakfast spewed out violently. He felt the tears take hold instantly and couldn't stop them, or the heaving. Bobby eased a hand around the boy's waist and held onto him until he was done.

"Is he alright?" Jack's voice drifted around from somewhere behind them.

"He just threw up. It's his nerves." Bobby called out back. He waited until Craig tried to turn away from the mess he'd left on the grounds before turning him back towards the door.

Craig tried to hold the tears back, but a few managed to trickle out. "I'm sorry." He managed to get the words out as Robert stepped towards them, holding out some tissues.

"Serves them assholes right, dragging your ass down here like this, they deserve a little puke in their flowers." He laughed and gave Craig a gentle nudge. "Don't you think?" He reached out to take the tissues Robert was offering and used them to wipe Craig's cheeks and mouth. "You okay now? You think you can go in?" He asked quietly.

Craig managed to nod his head slowly, though he felt as if he were swimming around in his own confusion. He let Bobby pull him through the door, into the hall lined with dark wood paneling and a shining granite floor. Robert pointed to some benches lining the wall. "You boys have a seat; I'm going to go let them know we are here. The sooner we can go up the better." He turned and walked through an open doorway that let out into the main lobby of the building.

Craig let Bobby pull him over to the bench along with their brothers, and they all sat down. Craig wanted to lean into Bobby and hide his face from the world. He felt as if anyone walking close enough would be able to look at him and know who he was and why he was there. He managed to keep some sort of control over his urge and simply allowed his brother to keep his arm around his shoulders.

"You're sure you're okay?" Jerry sat on Craig's other side and gave his leg a gentle pat.

Craig managed to nod his head, but all he wanted to do was scream at Jerry that no, he wasn't okay. He felt as if his insides were ripping out of him, and he was scared. He didn't want to repeat what he'd said to Robert, especially to total strangers. He didn't want to go upstairs and he didn't want to be taken behind a closed door and have people he didn't know asking him about the most horrible things in his life.

He pushed the emotions back into a dark corner of his brain, and told himself now was the time to start turning everything off. He needed to feel numb. That was how he had gotten through it in the conference room when Robert had been asking him questions that should have been considered illegal. No one should have the right to say the words that were said to him, though Robert had done his best to be gentle, and phrase his questions in as least an invasive manner as possible.

Considering the nature of the questions, and what was being asked, it could have been worse, and maybe that's what he was so frightened of. Robert had gone out of his way to make it easy for him, the District Attorney, or whoever it was that was going to be hammering at him with their words wouldn't be that thoughtful or considerate of what he might be feeling or fighting down inside. They would only want what facts they could get from him so that they could put Jordan behind bars.

They would want to know the facts about Adam Macks as well, that's what Robert had told him before he'd ended their little practice session, and talking about Adam just made it all that more frightening. The monster in his memories was just as real as the people that were starting to wander in through the door they had just came through minutes before. Robert had asked him some questions about his father, about what he'd done to him, and how he'd let Jordan hurt him as payment for helping him get the boy out of the state.

He had backed off when it became apparent that Craig was going to bust wide open if he pushed much further. He had told Craig that if the questioning got to be too much for him once they were in the official meeting that all he had to do was speak up and he would make sure they backed off. Craig wondered just how much control Robert would actually have though. He was a lawyer, yeah, but it wasn't as if he could stop them from questioning him in the first place, so why did he think he could tell them to back off if their questions got to be too much?

It seemed a lifetime before Robert returned to lead them towards the main lobby. He walked them past the stairs, to the back of the large expanse, and straight to the elevator. Craig moved his legs as Bobby guided him along, not looking up at the ever growing activity of people around him. The public employees were filtering in to take on their daily tasks, and somehow Craig was sure they would all know what he was there for. It was a stupid fear, he knew it was, but he couldn't fight it down. The ride in the elevator was mostly quiet, and the small space seemed to fill with tension, not just from him, but from his brothers. If they were felling tense, then he was sure that he had reason to worry, but he tried to convince himself they were feeling tense because they could feel his fear.

"Damn, I hate this building." Angel spoke from the back of the elevator, his voice not much more than a mumble.

"No need for worry little brother; you're here on the right side of the law this time." Jerry forced a laugh.

"Is that what this knot in my stomach is?" Jack asked just as the elevator came to a stop. "I guess Mom did have to bring me down here a few times for court." His voice was just as quiet as Angel's.

Craig felt Bobby tense up next to him as the door opened and they stepped out into a hall way. The floors were tile and the walls appeared to be plaster. It wasn't as fancy as the main floor, and it looked more modern. Craig let Bobby pull him from the elevator, and they followed Robert down the hall to a glass door. Robert opened the door and allowed the Mercers to walk in ahead of him.

"Mr. Bradford?" A large man wearing a suit walked up to them, picking Robert out apparently because he was carrying a briefcase, or perhaps they knew each other, Craig wasn't sure, and he didn't really care.

"Mr. Porter." Robert shook hands with the man once he'd closed the door.

Mr. Porter. Craig was sure he'd heard the name before, and then his mind managed to recall that it was someone by the name of Porter that had called the house and talked to Bobby.

"Mr. Porter, these are the Mercers, Bobby, Angel, Jeremiah and Jack." He pointed to each as he spoke. "And this young man is Craig." He motioned to Craig, who felt his body press into Bobby a little harder as the fear of being so close to the man who was going to question him chilled him down to his bones.

Craig looked around him, the office was quiet, and there didn't seem to be anyone else around. There were two desks, each on opposite walls, and three doors at the end of the room. There was dark green carpet under his feet, and it seemed to go well with the dark wood panels on the lower half of the wall. The lime green paint that covered the top sections contrasted with the dark green on the floor in a good way. He felt his body relax slightly. He didn't feel as if he were in a courthouse anymore somehow that seemed to help him. There were two leather sofas at the end of the room, close to the doors there. The door in the center was glass and chrome, and he could see a table and chairs on the other side.

Porter looked at Craig. "Well, young man, it's nice to meet you." He spoke quietly. "Believe me, I know this isn't going to be easy for you, and we do appreciate your help." He didn't reach out, in fact he let his hands clasp together in front of him.

"Do you want to know how hard it is for him? He threw up in your flowers outside." Bobby spoke quietly, but his voice held a threat to it that Craig could hear loud and clear. "He ain't here because he wanted to be. He's here because he has to be. I just want to make one thing clear here. I'm his legal guardian; I'm the one who says if this little meeting ends before it starts. I don't care what you can do to me if I break up your little party, but I damn sure care about what you could do to him with your questions, so tread easy with him."

Mr. Porter looked at Bobby. "Mr. Mercer, the last thing we want to do is make this more difficult. Believe me; we want to nail this sick son of a bitch for what he did to this boy." He looked back down at Craig. "If we thought we could do that without asking you questions, we would. Even with the doctor's reports and the police statements, it's going to be very hard to prove anything. That's the only reason we wanted to ask you some questions." He was talking to Craig directly. "Your brothers will be right outside the door, and we will not lock that door." He looked at Bobby, as if to prove a point. "In fact, that's the door right there." He turned and pointed to the middle door at the end of the room that Craig had looked at so closely only moments before. "You see that? You can see right through the glass." He turned back to Craig. "You'll be able to look over to the door at any time and see your brothers. Is that going to be okay with you?"

Craig wanted to nod his head, but couldn't make any muscle in his body obey him.

"We have soda, if you'd like one, and we have some packs of cookies if you want something to snack on." Porter forced a smile. "I'm not trying to be cruel here Craig, and I will make this as easy as I can on you. I have a friend of mine waiting for us. Her name is Dr. Layne. She is a child psychologist. I want you to know about that up front. She's certified by the courts to be present during this kind of questioning, and it's her job to tell me to shut up if she feels I'm asking something that you can't handle. She's what we call a child advocate; do you know what that means?" He gave Craig a moment to respond, but when the boy didn't speak he went on talking. "You also have Mr. Bradford with you, and he'll make sure I listen to Dr. Layne." His voice remained steady and calm. "So, when you're ready, we can go on in, and your brothers can sit down and relax, and they can see you right through that door." He reinforced his earlier statement.

Craig still felt tense, and the fear hadn't subsided, but the man in front of him wasn't nearly as frightening now as he had been a minute before. He gave himself a long moment to hold onto Bobby's coat before he drew in a deep breath. "Okay." He muttered.

Robert stepped up next to him and looked at Bobby. "It's going to be fine. I'll let you know if you need to stop anything." He assured the man.

Bobby let his arm loosen from around Craig. "Okay, you yell if you need to." He told Craig as he let Robert lead him across the room, following Porter.

Craig took one last glance back at his brothers as Robert held the door open for him. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to remember what Bobby had said to him about having strength he didn't know he had. He prayed his brother hadn't been lying to him. He felt as if he were walking into the middle of a busy highway and would be struck down by a hundred semi trucks if he took that last step into the room, but he took it, and watched the glass door close behind him.


	38. Chapter 38

Thanks all for reading and for the reviews! Let me know your thoughts about this one. I'm not too good with legal proceedings and such, so forgive me if anything seems 'off' in that area :)

Still don't own, still poor.

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**Chapter 38: Round One**

Robert pulled a chair away from the heavy wooden table and motioned for Craig to sit down. The boy complied without saying a word. The air around him felt thick, and his throat suddenly felt dry. He felt Robert sitting down on his right side, close enough that the chairs nearly touched.

"Craig, would you like for me to hang your coat up for you?" Mr. Porter offered. Craig tried to remember if he'd heard the man's first name, and he found his mind caught on that question. "Craig?" Porter repeated his name, "Your coat?" He held his hand out as if Craig would hand over his blanket of security without question.

Craig shook his head and hugged the coat tighter around him.

"Okay." Porter pointed to the other side of the table where an older woman was sitting. She was wearing a rusty colored sweater and was seated directly across from Craig, with files and papers spread out in front of her. "Craig, this is Dr. Layne. She's the person I told you about." He took a seat at the end of the table while Robert sat next to Craig and started emptying his own files and papers out onto the table.

Craig studied Dr. Layne for a long moment. He was sure he had met her from someplace before, but couldn't quiet place her.

"Hello Craig." The doctor smiled and it felt warm and comforting, and made her look even more familiar to him.

Craig gave her a slight nod and felt his body lean slightly towards Robert. He was certain he knew this doctor and his mind was flipping back through the pages of his memories, trying to find her face. Perhaps she had been one of the doctors he'd had to see when he was younger, just after Evelyn had brought him home of St. Vincent's. The memory of St. Vincent's sparked the connection. She had been the doctor he'd had to talk to when he was at St. Vincent's. She was the one who had called Evelyn Mercer and told her she had a boy who needed saving. His eyes snapped back to her. She had saved his life. "I know you." He muttered quietly.

Dr. Layne let her smile widen. "Yes, Craig, you do. Look at you, you have grown so much."

Robert seemed surprised. "You know Craig?" He questioned and looked from Porter back to the doctor. "I wasn't aware you were going to be bringing a child advocate in who had previous connections with Craig." He spoke quietly.

"I thought it may be better that he did know me." Dr. Layne shifted her gaze to Robert. "You are Mr. Bradford?" She asked.

"Yes, I am the legal counsel for the family." Robert nodded his head.

"I was involved with Craig while he was a ward of the state, at St. Vincent's. I knew his mother, and I know his early history, so when I was consulted about this, I thought that perhaps it would make it easier for him." She looked back to Craig. "I can dismiss myself from this case, if you would prefer."

Robert leaned towards Craig and he patted his arm to get his attention. Craig looked at the man, not sure exactly what the problem was. "Craig, do you feel comfortable with Dr. Layne being here?" He asked the question calmly. "If you don't we can ask for the find a replacement for her, and we can reschedule this whole thing for another time."

Craig looked at Dr. Layne and tried to remember some of the details from the time she'd been his doctor at St. Vincent's. "I'm okay." He looked back at Robert. He had to admit that it felt a little more comfortable for him having some familiarity with the woman. He could remember her dealing with him in very much the same manner as his mother. She had been kind and understanding, even when he was lashing out at her, and all the other people around him. "I can't come back again." He kept his voice quiet as he spoke directly to Robert.

"Okay, as long as you are comfortable with this." Robert smiled.

There were official words that had to be passed back and forth between Robert and Mr. Porter. Craig was lost on all of them. He stared at the edge of the wooden table and tried to clear his mind of the confusion. His nerves were tingling and pulsing as he waited for this whole mess to really start. He glanced up at Dr. Layne to see her looking at Porter, listening to him as he rattled off words longer than Craig's arm.

Robert responded in kind, reading off of some papers in front of him, and that seemed to go on forever. Craig chanced a glance towards the door, and was relieved to see Bobby standing there, just a few feet from the door, looking directly at him through the glass. He drew in a deep breath and turned his attention back to the table.

Dr. Layne was had been following his gaze, and looked at him. The words around him had silenced and the woman drew in a deep breath. "I can assume that's Bobby?" She asked quietly and pointed towards the door.

Craig nodded his head, but didn't offer his voice.

"I was very sorry to hear about Evelyn, I know that is a very difficult loss, and I'm sure it makes all of this much harder for you." Dr. Layne drew in a deep breath. "But Mr. Porter has promised to get this over with as quickly as possible." She turned towards the end of the table and gave Porter a warning look. "Isn't that right Mr. Porter?"

"Absolutely," Porter agreed. "I have heard that you like to draw pictures Craig. Do you think you would feel comfortable drawing anything for us?" He asked.

Craig shrugged his shoulders, not sure if he could draw with so many eyes on him. Robert pulled the sketches he'd done earlier out of a file in front of him and slid them across the table towards Dr. Layne. "He drew these for me. I'm not sure how much help they would be, but he as agreed that you can have them." He looked down the table to Porter.

"Craig, I'm going to turn on a recorder, if that's okay with you? Once this is on, everything we say here will be considered your statement, and it will be on the record. Is that okay with you?" Porter pointed to a small digital recorder sitting on the table amid the papers.

Craig nodded his head slowly, not wanting the recorder turned on, but knowing that he didn't have a choice.

"You are going to have to say the words Craig, in order for this to be official. I know it seems like a small detail, but the law is very particular about details." Porter spoke calmly, his hand resting on the device.

"Okay. You can turn it on." Craig spoke quietly.

Porter smiled as he flipped the switch. He started talking, stating the date and time and that the following was going to be a recorded statement given by Craig under no form of duress. He noted Robert's presence, and Dr. Layne's, and stated their occupations and the reason for being a part of the process. He looked at Craig. "Can you state your full name for me Craig?" He asked in a normal voice.

Craig felt his throat tighten up and he swallowed hard. "Craig Aaron Mercer." He managed to speak his name. He rarely spoke his middle name and it sounded odd to him.

"Craig, are you familiar with a man by the name of Bradley Jordan?" Porter asked.

Craig nodded his head slowly. "Yes sir." He remembered to speak the words, barely.

"How are you familiar with Bradley Jordan?" Porter asked, writing something down on some paper in front of him, not looking at Craig, and somehow that seemed to make it a little easier.

"He's my councilor at school." Craig felt his words quiver. This was starting out about the same as Robert's practice session had gone, and he was sure he could do this part with no problem.

Porter looked up at him. "How long has he been your councilor at school?" He asked.

Craig shook his head and stared at the recorder, trying not to notice the man's eyes fixed on him, "Just this year, my freshman year." He answered quietly, the words barely making it past his lips as he remembered the feelings that had overwhelmed him when Bobby had taken him to the school to pick up his books and assignments, and the way Jordan had looked at him, and the chills that had run through him when Jordan reached out to touch him. He had felt so damn stupid for losing control that day, and as it turned out his instincts had been right. He'd felt scared of the man for a reason. Bobby had told him that day never to be sorry for following his instincts, and that it was okay to not let anyone touch him if he didn't feel comfortable.

"Did he ever act as if he could be any kind of a threat to you?" Porter asked the question casually.

"Not really, but I didn't like being around him." Craig admitted. The words had come easy because of the memory of that day at the school.

"Can you tell me how Mr. Jordan had connections to your father, Adam Macks?" Porter asked.

The question sucked the air of Craig's lungs. He felt the tremor starting in his gut. "Adam Macks is not my father." He spoke the words stiffly. "I hadn't seen him since he killed my real mom and shot me." He felt a sudden surge of pure hate filling him. "How should I know how Jordan had connections with him? I don't know, maybe Adam fucked him over a few times, and found out he liked boys."

Craig managed a quick glance at Robert, whose eyes were wide, apparently surprised to hear the teen speak with the voice that had come from him, and the word that seemed to come far too easily from him. He looked back at Porter, regretting his words instantly, as well as the use of Bobby's signature 'fuck'. His mind brought back the taste of Ivory Soap quite vividly, and he remembered his time in the corner. He couldn't help but wonder if Bobby was going to hear about this little slip, and prayed that he didn't. He'd had enough stress for one day, a stint in a corner somewhere would not help. He diverted his attention back to Mr. Porter, at the end of the table.

Porter's expression changed from one of calm to total shock. He opened his mouth once as if he were going to speak, and reached for the recorder, but stopped himself. He finally drew in a deep breath. "Craig, I'm sorry, I know this is difficult, and I'm sure you're battling a lot of different emotions right now, but please try to keep the language clean for me?" He managed to ask the question in a steady voice.

"I'm sorry." Craig sat back in his chair and looked at Robert, completely confused, and helpless. He looked back at Porter, though he wasn't sure if he was ready for whatever the man said next.

Porter nodded his head. "Craig, we are very sorry that this happened to you and we know this isn't easy, but we need to know what happened. Can you tell us what happened?"

Craig swallowed hard and drove the anger and fear down into his gut. He had to hold it there or he would never be able to say the words. He could feel the bile fighting against the effort and was sure he was going to lose the battle soon enough. He wasn't sure where to start, or what he should say at that moment. Did Porter want to know about what happened at Sofi's mother's apartment? Did he want to know more about his father? What was he asking? He felt confused, "I don't know." He muttered, at a loss to form any other words. "I don't remember much about how I got there."

Porter looked at Robert and was about to say something, but Robert spoke up quickly. "He was heavily drugged with some very potent chemicals. You are aware of that fact. Some of the events that took place are unclear to him, and the kidnapping is one of these events that seem fairly vague in his mind. The police report should detail that out for you, the Mercers gave their statements, and Lieutenant Green was the detective on the case, I'm sure his report is more than sufficient for what you need."

Porter lowered his eyes and concentrated on some papers in front of him for a long moment, before speaking again, this time he didn't look up at Craig. "You don't remember being taken from the apartment where you and your older brother, Jack, were staying?" He asked.

"No sir." Craig swallowed hard. "I only remember Jack telling me to run, and there were strange men. One of them knocked me down, and everything after that is just, confused." He looked down at the edge of the table. "There's only bits of it, and it's all mixed up."

"But you do remember parts of it." Porter nodded his head. "Why were you and your brother staying away from home?" He looked up at Craig.

"There was some trouble, before, and Bobby thought we'd be safer away from the house." Craig was feeling more uncomfortable. Robert hadn't asked him about any of the trouble that had been brewing before that night. He looked up at the older man, hoping he would see the lost feeling that was rushing though him.

"Craig, do you know what kind of trouble there had been?" Dr. Layne interjected quickly before Porter could say anything else.

Craig shrugged his shoulders. How much had the police been told? He didn't know what he was supposed to say. How much could he say without getting his brothers into trouble? "It's kind of hard to remember." He avoided looking across the table to the doctor and lowered his gaze back down to the edge of wooden top. On further examination he realized the top of the table was actually wood laminate. Jerry would have been disappointed by that fact. He loved wood pieces and couldn't stand fakes like that.

"Mr. Porter, I don't believe this has anything to do with the reason we are here today, do you?" Robert spoke quickly.

"We are simply trying to establish the circumstances behind how Craig ended up in the hands of his father." Porter spoke quickly. "That's all." He seemed to be trying to remain calm, but under the fake calm his voice sounded as if he were pissed off.

"He sent men with guns and they knocked me down and it gave me a headache, I guess I hit my head. They put me in a car and they covered my mouth with a rag and whatever was on the rag smelled like a dead animal. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up." Craig looked up at the man, suddenly feeling another surge of anger. "When I woke up I was in a closet, and I had blood all over me." He felt the tension bite at him, and he fought hard to hold it down.

Porter nodded his head. "That's all the detail you can give us about that?" He sounded as if he were starting to feel irritated.

"Yes sir." Craig kept his eyes focused on Porter, silently daring the man to challenge the truth he'd just stated.

Porter drew in a deep breath and sat back in his chair. "What do you remember happening after you woke up?" He pushed.

Craig's mind seemed to spin as he recalled Adam Macks opening the closet door. He drew in a shaky breath and told the man and the doctor how he'd been pulled out of the closet, and how Adam had taken him to a bed. He talked about the man Adam referred to as a doctor, and how he'd shot him up with some kind of drug before stitching up the gash in his head. He shivered as he described what had happened once the man with the black bag full of drugs was done with him. He squeezed his eyes closed and felt the words coming out, describing the way Adam had crawled on top of him, and what he'd done. He worked his way through the whole nightmare quickly, trying not to concentrate on the details, or the images that sprang to life in his mind.

"If you were drugged so heavily, how can you remember so much about what was done to you in that bed Craig?" Porter asked the question with no warning.

Craig looked up at him, seeing the doubt behind his eyes. He knew what he was thinking. He didn't believe him. If he didn't believe him about Adam, how could he ever believe him about Jordan? "I don't know." He answered honestly. "It was like everything felt a hundred times stronger, and I could hear the colors, and every time he touched me I could hear it, and could feel the smells." He swallowed back at the overwhelming memory. He felt tears stinging at his eyes. "I don't know." He shook his head.

"Mr. Porter, I have reviewed the medical reports, and the drugs that were found in his system would allow him to remember what was done to him. They were administered to keep him submissive." Dr. Layne spoke quietly. "Please be certain to ask the questions prevalent to the case against Mr. Jordan. We already know that there was a violent history where Adam Macks was concerned. To hear that he sexually abused Craig is not a surprise."

Robert leaned forward in his seat. "If this is the line of questioning you plan on following, then perhaps we should end this meeting now. Craig is here to tell his side of the story, not to be interrogated." He spoke calmly.

Porter hesitated before drawing in a deep breath. "Craig, you have to understand that every word you say is going to be analyzed by Jordan's defense attorney. He is going to try to find as much wrong with your statement as possible, so I'm only trying to be certain there is nothing for him to rip apart. I don't want to give him a reason to ask that you come back here for some kind of questioning on his part. Can you understand that?"

Craig looked up at Porter. The meaning of his words seemed to sink in, bringing out new fears, and old anger. "Jordan helped Adam take me away somewhere. I don't know where, but it was a long ways. And when we got there Adam took me to the basement, and he told me Jordan was going to have his way with me, and I had to do what he said. Jordan licked on me, and he hit me, and he bit me, and he clawed at me. He had me every way a man could think of, and you're telling me that his attorney can call me a liar if I don't say it right?" He felt the panic working up in him, and the feeling of bugs crawling on his skin seemed to work up his arms and legs with no warning. "That's as sick as what he did to me." He let the tears fall.

"Craig, calm down, it's not as bad as you think." Dr. Layne spoke quickly. "That's not what Mr. Porter meant."

"Craig, look at me." Robert spoke quickly.

Craig squeezed his eyes closed. "I want to go home." He spoke quickly. "You don't believe me." Craig barely got the words out. "You think I'm lying." He felt his body starting to shake, almost hard enough to cause him to fall out of the chair. He was losing control, and had no desire to try to regain it.

Craig felt activity in the room, and could hear movement, but he didn't open his eyes to look. A moment later he felt a hand on his back, and tried to shrink away from it. "Craig, no one believes you are making this up. I promise you that." Dr. Layne's words came from directly next to him, sounding gentle. "Everyone in this room believes you." She pulled a chair up so that she could sit next to the boy.

Craig didn't respond to the woman. He knew that she was trying to help, but he wanted her to go away. He wanted everyone to go away. "I want to go home." He repeated as he sobbed hard. He couldn't shake the fears welling up inside of him. His throat constricted hard as a new wave of tears took over. No, he didn't want to talk to Porter or Layne anymore, he wanted to go home and hide behind the walls of the house, where he was safe and no one could look at him as if he were some sort of freak.

"Craig, I'm sorry. I wasn't telling you that I didn't believe you. The problem is I do believe you and I want your statement to be indisputable." Porter spoke from somewhere in front of him. "I don't want you to have to go through this again and that means we need to make sure there is no questions left unanswered."

"Craig, look at me please?" Robert leaned in close to him from his right side, and Craig felt a hand rest down on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes, turned his head slightly, and looked at Robert who was leaning in very close to him. "I want you turn and look over at the door."

Craig drew in a deep breath and slowly turned his head back towards the door. Bobby was standing there, his hand on the handle, looking in at him, as if he were about to come barreling in to take him out of there.

"You have a choice here. You can stand up and go to the door and tell Bobby you want to go home or you can let me tell him that you're okay and that he can go sit down and relax. I'm sorry I didn't prepare you enough for this, I thought I had. You knew this wasn't going to be easy, now you decide if you can stick with it for just a little while longer." Robert's words were quiet, and calm, and almost soothing,

"Craig, I will try to be more careful, I promise." Mr. Porter spoke quietly. "I do believe you, and I want Jordan to pay for what he has done. He needs to be in prison."

Craig sniffed at the runny nose that his crying was working up, and turned back to Robert. "Okay." His voice choked at him as he agreed to try again.

Robert smiled at him. "Your mother would be proud of you, you know that?" He winked at Craig and smiled.

Craig closed his eyes once more and tried to push back the onslaught of emotions that were swirling around in his head and chest. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay." He nodded his head. "I'm sorry." He let his eyes open and used his hands to wipe at his eyes and cheeks.

"Let's take a couple of minutes and you can calm down." Mr. Porter offered. "I'll get you a soda and you can take all the time you need." He turned and walked over to the back wall of the room where a small refrigerator was sitting under a shelf.

Craig sat back in his chair and listened as Robert walked to the door and opened the door to speak quietly with Bobby. He couldn't quite hear the words, but he didn't look over to the door to watch the exchange either. He knew that if he looked at Bobby again he would lose what little bit of resolve he had and would beg his brother to take him home. He sipped on the cola Porter had brought to him, and he accepted some tissues from Dr. Layne. He tried to get his muscles to relax, but they refused. He felt as if the onslaught of emotions had carved a cavern deep into his gut and now he couldn't get it to close. He managed to get his tears to die enough that he could talk.

Mr. Porter spoke several different times, telling him to take his time, that he had all the time in the world, and he didn't want him to tell him he was ready until he was certain of it. Craig kept his eyes fixed on anything he could to keep them from looking into the faces of the people around him at that moment. He listened to the sounds of the room, which was mostly silent when no one was talking. If he listened closely enough he could hear the quiet buzzing from the lights above him in the ceiling, and the low hum of the refrigerator that he hadn't even noticed was in the room before. He was lost in his own efforts to block out the feelings that he'd allowed to overwhelm him once, afraid of what would happen if he lost control a second time. Someone placed a pack of chocolate chip cookies in front of him, though he didn't realize it at first, or even have enough sense about what was going on around him to know who it was that put them there. He reached for them after some time, but seemed to have a problem getting the wrapper opened. Robert reached out and took care of that task for him.

He picked up a one of the cookies and looked at it for along moment before he shifted his gaze to Mr. Porter, who was sitting at the end of the table, looking through his papers. "Okay, I think I'm ready." His voice came out small, and quiet.

Porter looked at him and nodded his head. He reached out towards the digital recorder on the table, but hesitated. "You're sure?" He asked calmly.

Craig nodded his head, and took a small bite of the cookie, praying he didn't throw up again. He looked at the papers on the table. "Can I have some paper?" He asked weakly.

Porter looked surprised. "Of course you can." He slid some blank sheets towards him as well as a pencil.

Craig braced himself as Porter hit the button on the recorder and started talking the same as before, stating the date and time.


	39. Chapter 39

Thanks for reading, and please review! To those of you who have reviewed, thanks so much, you are the best! :)

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 39: Waiting**

Bobby stood and watched through the doorway as Craig sat next to the Robert. The kid looked terrified and so fucking alone. He noticed when Craig grabbed hold of the leather that enveloped him and pulled it closer around him, as if he were hugging it to him. He was glad he'd let the kid wear it. He'd almost backed out of the gesture, not wanting to come off as some kind of a pussy in front of his brothers.

"You ain't gonna get him out of there any faster by standing on your feet. Sit down." Jerry spoke up from the sofa just to the left of the door. It was positioned in the center of the room, facing the identical sofa in which Jack and Angel had taken seats.

Bobby stayed on his feet. It wasn't as if he was standing at the door. He was standing in between the two sofas, facing the door, making sure he could see Craig and Craig could see him. He was going to be ready if Craig gave him any sign that he needed out of that room. He wished he could hear what was being said through the door, but despite the fact that he could see Craig easily, there was no sound escaping the other room at all.

"Man, we need one of these at the house." Angel spoke up as he stretched out on the leather and rubbed his hands across the smooth texture.

"It wouldn't look right in Mom's house." Jack spoke, though he was copying Angel's movements. "It is nice though. I bet it cost a shitload of cash."

"Mom wasn't for expensive, she was for practical. Something like this around the five of us growing up just wasn't practical." Jerry spoke with a matter of fact tone to his voice; though his own hand dropped to the seat of the sofa he was sinking into. He rubbed at it for a long moment. "It wouldn't look bad in the office though. I could see us with a couple of these in there."

Bobby was listening to his brothers' words, though he was sure they were assuming he was too involved with watching Craig to hear them. He didn't look towards any of them, and it probably came as a surprise to them all when he spoke. "Still wouldn't be practical. It's not like Angel can keep from spillin' shit all over it, and Jack would sleep on it all fucking day with his dirty shoes on." His voice was quiet. He watched as Craig looked over towards him, fear radiated from him as if it were a glow around him, and he looked as if he were about to panic in there. Bobby almost took a step towards the door, but Craig looked back towards something or someone else, and the man stayed in his place.

"Come on man, sit your ass down." Jerry spoke again.

"I ain't sitting. I don't want to sit." Bobby still didn't divert his attention away from the door. He had never been good at sitting still when his nerves were worked up. He wanted to hit something, hard. He could see Craig's lips move, and to his surprise he could make out part of what the boy was saying by concentrating on his mouth. Somehow it made him feel a little more at ease, almost as if he were close enough to keep his little brother safe, or at least make the attempt.

"He looks scared." Jack muttered.

"He is scared." Angel commented. "He feels alone in there."

Bobby finally peeled his eyes away from the door long enough to look down at Jack and Angel, both men were looking though the glass, at Craig. He turned his head and found Jerry's gaze fixed in the same direction. He sighed and looked back at Craig again. He should have known they were more interested in Craig than the stupid couches they were sitting on. He wondered if they were feeling as worked up as he was. He forced a smile, and tried to make them feel a little better, though words had no effect on him at all, he was sure it would ease their minds. "But he's doing damn good, ain't he?" He asked quietly. "Look at him. Ma would have been proud of him for doing this."

"Yeah, she would have." Jerry agreed with quiet words. "She would have been real proud. Not just of Craig either. She would have been damn proud of you too. I have to admit, you're handling this better than I thought you would."

Bobby's first thought at the statement was that Jerry didn't know him as well as he used to. He let the words sink in though, the idea of his mother being proud, and calmness seemed to creep into his brain that he wasn't so sure he was comfortable feeling at that moment. Words normally didn't help him, not like they did his brothers, and it threw him off slightly. He wanted to feel tense, and ready to bust in and rescue his baby brother from any attack that he might be subjected to by the wolves he was pinned up with.

He realized why Jerry's words seemed to hit him, they reminded him that his mother would have handled the whole situation much differently, and outwardly he had been able to put on the persona that Evelyn Mercer would have projected if indeed she had been there and been in control over what was being said and down to her youngest son at that moment. Of course she understood how the wheels of justice turned from a far different perspective than her eldest son did. She had been on the right side of the law, battling for children's' rights in the courtrooms, right alongside other case workers for years. Bobby on the other hand had always seemed to end up on the wrong side of the law, with his battles in the courtroom usually being for shorter terms behind bars.

Bobby finally shifted his head enough that he could see Jerry, "Yeah, well, I got you to hold me back if I get the urge to hit anyone, right?" He asked and managed to force a thin smile.

Jerry grinned big. "Hell, I don't think I could hold all three of ya' all back, and let's face it the three of you don't like to listen to a damn word I say." He laughed quietly.

"Well that's because you're usually full of shit." Jack spoke from the opposite couch.

Bobby chuckled quietly and turned his attention back to the glass door, with the chrome framing Craig almost as if it were a photograph. The look on the kid's face had changed. He looked more upset, or confused. He was battling with the memories that these people were forcing to the surface, and it was pissing Bobby off. He didn't like the pained expression on Craig's face. He watched his mouth moving, and was sure he seen 'fuck' form across the kid's lips. "Looks like he's going to be snacking on some more Ivory when we get home," He spoke the words more to himself than his brothers. He doubted he'd even bring up the slip of the tongue to the boy when he did get to put his arms around him though. Hell, maybe someone in the room deserved to have the word slung at them hard. He wanted Craig to defend himself if he needed to. That's what he needed to instill in him, a feeling that he had the right to fight off any kind of attack, physical or verbal.

"You can tell what he's saying?" Angel asked quickly.

"Not much of it. But I know what the word 'fuck' looks like." Bobby shook his head as he watched Craig's whole body seem to shrink back into his chair, and the tears started to fall from him. "He's about to lose it." He took a step towards the door.

"Now Bobby, you can't just barge in there. Robert said that he would stop it if it got out of hand." Jerry leaned forward from his seat, as if he would be able to stand and block his brother's path if the need came up.

"Don't think I won't bust you a good one Jerry." Bobby warned, not wanting his brothers to get hurt because they stood between him and that door. "They ain't gonna fucking drag him through a damn grinder and leave us to pick up the pieces. What the hell do you think this is doing to him?" He shook his head. "I warned Porter I would put a stop to it if I needed to, and I will."

He continued watching as Craig seemed to start bawling, and pulled back from the table. Robert leaned in close to him, but Craig was in plain sight and Bobby seen the words. 'I want to go home', he knew his brother had had enough. He was ready to stop. For whatever reason he wasn't able to do this anymore and the District Attorney would have to find some other way to get Jordan into prison. Hell, the man was guilty; they shouldn't have such a hard time proving it with all the reports and statements they had from the cops and the doctors, and the for God's sake even the FBI.

Bobby stepped to the door and reached for the handle. He watched a woman, apparently the doctor Porter had spoke of, sit next to Craig, blocking his view of him for a short moment. He could see that Robert was talking to him, and a second later Craig looked over at him. The boy turned back to Robert, and a few words were exchanged.

Bobby was about to twist the handle on the door when Robert stood and walked towards him, shaking his head in an attempt to stop him from making that move. He opened the door and leaned out, forcing Bobby to take a step back as he tried to look past his mother's lawyer to see Craig. "What the hell is going on? He's losing it in there." Bobby kept his voice quiet.

"He's having a hard time, but we knew it was going to be like this. He wants to keep going." Robert's voice was barely audible. "I told him the choice was his, and he decided to keep going."

"I don't like this." Bobby shook his head. "I think it needs to stop, now." He voiced his own feelings the best way he knew how, though his voice sounded threatening, he could feel it in the words as he spoke them but that was not his intention. He didn't want to sound threatening. He wanted his brother out of there, he wanted to stop the pain that he could see etched into his features, and he wanted to hold onto him.

Robert stepped further through the door. "He wants to do this Bobby. He wants to keep going. I gave him the choice. Now, if you want to end it, I can tell them we need to stop. Dr. Layne knows Craig. He is familiar with her, and that is a good thing. He doesn't feel threatened by the people in this room."

Bradford looked so damn sincere that Bobby had to suck in a deep breath and bite on his tongue to keep from insisting that Craig be brought out of that room that very second. He drew in a deep breath and nodded his head. "Okay. But if I see him looking like that again I'm coming in." He warned the older man. He was putting trust in Bradford, and that was hard. Hell, the man had his mother's night things at his house, if Evelyn Mercer was that close to him, then he had to be trustworthy, she had always been good at judging people.

Robert nodded as if he were giving his approval, and turned and stepped back into the room. Bobby watched him walk back to sit next to Craig. He watched as Porter gave his brother a can of cola, and then Dr. Layne slid a pack of cookies in front of him. He stared at the silence on the other side of the door for a long time. It looked as if Craig was getting himself ready; preparing to face the visions that were hiding inside of him.

He wasn't surprised when paper and a pencil was slid across the table to rest in front of him. Craig must have asked for the items; maybe they were going to let him draw it out for them, and that could be a good thing. Maybe the hardest part was over; maybe he had to unleash some of his fear of what was happening to him before he could go on any further. That's what the man was hoping anyway.

"Bobby, you need to sit down. He can still see you if you're on the couch, and you can still see him." Jerry spoke up. "It might not be making it much easier for him, knowing you're this anxious, you ever thought about that? "

Bobby backed away from the door, slowly, watching as Craig started talking again. He looked at Jerry for a long moment. He was right. Maybe his hovering there, looking worried, and ready to bust in wasn't the best thing for Craig to see. As much as he hated feeling as if he was leaving the kid alone to face the shit inside that room, part of him realized it was something Craig had to do on his own. Maybe it would turn out to be the best thing for him, having to face the demons inside of him with other people.

The eldest Mercer turned completely and sat on the sofa, next to Jerry. He rested his hands on his elbows and let his face drop into his hands for a moment. "Shit, I ain't ever felt this fucking worried about anything. " He finally admitted. "I don't like this, it's pissing me off and I don't know why."

All three of his brother's laughed, shifting his worry to irritation almost instantly. He let his hands drop and he looked from one brother to another. "Oh, I'm that amusing to all of you?"

Angel shook his head. "Your problem is you ain't got any say in what the hell is going on here. You don't have control." He grinned wide. "You can't stand it. It's like the driving thing you got goin'. You think you're the one who has to drive all the time 'cause you like being in control."

Bobby felt the scowl form on his face. "No, I gotta drive everywhere because you can't drive." He pointed out.

"I can drive just fine." Angel's grin faded. "It ain't my fault you threw yourself in front of the car I was driving." He held his finger up and waggled it at the man. "It's the same thing with the cooking. You can't admit you can't cook, so you keep trying to burn down the house."

Bobby felt his face turning hot. "I did not try to burn down the house. I burned a few potatoes." He snapped.

Jerry looked amused by the shift in the conversation. "You know, Ma never let you anywhere near the kitchen for a reason Bobby." He spoke up, laughing at the idea of Bobby cooking.

"He can't stand not being the one in control, that's what it is. He can't keep himself from putting a pan on the stove because he doesn't like not having any say as to what goes in the pan." Angel grinned.

Bobby felt his scowl deepen. "That's bullshit." He shook his head. "I cooked for myself when I was on my own, I cooked all the time." He wasn't about to admit that his idea of cooking when he lived in Chicago was calling for pizza or Chinese.

He sat back in his seat and felt the smooth leather grab hold of him. He knew his brothers were trying to get his mind on other things, to keep him from worrying about Craig. That was fine. He wasn't going to ruin it for them. They needed to feel as if they were helping, and he would let them have that. But inside, his worry was still there, and he was still stealing glances at the door to check on the kid as often as possible without them seeing him. He was the oldest; he was the one charge, no matter what any of them said.

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Bradley Jordan sat at his computer, staring at the images that had enticed him less than twenty four hours before. Now they seemed to turn his stomach. That was normal, he could get lost in the idea one day, and then come back the next, knowing what he desired was wrong, and that he needed someone to show him how to get past it. Now, though, there was a different side to his view that mixed with his feelings of disgust. He had experienced for the first time what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the act.

He reached up under his glasses to his left eye, and fingered the welt that had risen from the belt. It was still smarting, and the other marks on his body were sore. He sighed as his mind replayed the night before. First the kitchen, and then they had moved to the bedroom. He hated the son of a bitch. Three hours, and countless strikes after it started Macks had apparently been satisfied that he'd shown Jordan who was in charge, and had left him there, curled up in the corner crying like a small child. He didn't stop until the man was sobbing like an idiot, and that only made it worse. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd caused the same emotions to boil up inside of Craig Mercer when he'd inflicted the same kind of abuse on him. God, forgive him, he had never thought about what is actions did to that boy. He had so wrapped up in his own desires and urges, seeing only the pleasure that was about to burst from him, and had not once considered what it had done to the boy. Perhaps he deserved everything that he got, prison, beatings, and the same treatment that he'd been so willing to dish out to a defenseless kid. That didn't mean he could handle it, or that he wanted it, and he was going to do all he could to keep from facing what was due him.

Jordan reached out and closed out of the website he'd been looking at. He turned in his chair and listened to the silence of the house. Macks had left at one in the morning, and hadn't come back yet. It was almost ten o'clock. He had left instructions for some food to be ready for him when he returned, and he wanted some clean clothes to wear. Jordan had washed, dried, and folded the other man's clothes, but there was no more food in the house. He didn't know what Macks thought he was going to be able to have ready for him. He was scared of the man, afraid of what he would do when he returned and there was nothing cooked, but he didn't have any other choice but to sit there and wait.

He had considered calling the cops and telling them that Macks was there. Maybe they would work with him, arrange for some kind of plea bargain. But then he knew Macks was in contact with Higgins. He would find out about it, and that would make Jordan a dead man for certain. That left him only one choice. He had to trust Macks to get him the hell out of Detroit, and away from the charges against him. He would be a fugitive and that was just finding with him, for the time being.

He didn't want to go to prison and suffer the same treatment he'd just endured the night before. Macks had said that he would keep him out of jail. He'd told him that the night before. He just had to do what the man said, when he said; anything to keep him happy. He could do that, at least for the time being. He was a prisoner in his own home, and maybe Macks would be his savior from this nightmare.

A small voice in the back of his head was screaming at him that Macks had gotten him into this mess to start with, and trusting him was the worst thing he could do, but another part of him argued that he had no choice. He was alone in this world now, Macks was all he had, the only person who seemed to give a shit about him in any way, even if it wasn't a very positive relationship. He would rather die than go to prison, and if it actually came to making the choice, he would put the bullet his head himself. He had considered the option of taking his own live a few times already and though he had backed out of it, not having the nerve, after the night he'd had, he was sure he could go through with it now.

The sound of the back door slamming shut jolted the man out of his thoughts.

"Jordan, get your ass in here and get some good on the stove!" Macks yelled after a moment.

Jordan stood and walked quickly to the kitchen, nudging his unruly glasses back up his nose as took the final steps to the doorway. "I was going to make something, but there's no food." He spoke quickly, not wanting Macks pissed at him.

Macks stood in front of the kitchen table which held three grocery sacks. Jordan swallowed back any more words and stepped over to help the man unload the items onto the table. He had meat and frozen vegetables as well as snack cakes and chips. He wasn't surprised to see two bottles of whiskey in one bag and he quickly noticed the case of beer sitting on the floor next to the table.

"Did you get my clothes done?" Macks asked calmly.

"Yes, I did. I put them in the spare bedroom." Jordan didn't want to add that he didn't want the man in his room again.

Macks looked at him. "What's the matter, dear, did I piss you off?" He laughed. "Put them where they belong, in your room; our room. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together, Brad." He reached for a bottle of whiskey and turned to walk to the cupboard. "I paid your fucking bills; I think that should allow me the right to be the man of the house, don't you? The electric won't be shut off and the television should be working now." He got out a glass and set it on the counter. "I'm going to get a shower, and then you will meet me in the bedroom. We have time to play a little before I head out for my job interview." He grinned wide as he poured his whiskey.

"Look, Macks, I don't think…" Jordan wasn't sure what had given him the nerve to think to argue, but the argument died quickly as soon as Macks slammed the whiskey bottle down onto the counter and turned to him, his eyes lit up as if they were on fire.

"My name is Jeff Jones. You refer to me by that name. Adam Macks is dead, and that's how it's gonna stay." Macks growled the words in such a wicked sounding voice that Jordan felt needles stab at him, and shivers ran through him.

"I'm sorry, Jones." Jordan forced the words out, though he came close to stuttering. "I just thought that…"

"You will do what I tell you to, don't bother trying to think." Jones' voice took on a calmer sounder. "Don't worry so much Bradley; I'm going to take good care of you. You just need to do what I tell you. I need some time with you, and I need some enjoyment. I have all the responsibility of keeping this house going, making money, paying the bills, buying the food…" He sighed before he downed his whiskey in one gulp and turned to pour more into his glass. "You really should be thanking me. If it weren't for me you probably would be heading to jail right now. Hell, the cops were all set to come and get you, before the power was turned off and they lost all communications with that little box strapped to your ankle."

Jordan started to ask how Macks, correction, Jones, could possibly know what the cops were thinking of doing, but then he realized that he'd probably been talking to Higgins. He drew in a short breath, finding it hard to take in air at that time. "Do you want to eat first?" He asked the question hesitantly, his words quiet and weak. God, he didn't know if he could make it through another session with Macks, or Jones, whoever the hell he was that day.

"I want you to get some food started. Once it's cooking, I want my clothes put into my new dresser and closet, neatly. I wish to eat once I'm finished in the shower, and then I will tell you what you need to do to complete your duties for the morning. Come this afternoon, there is going to be much more for you to do. I have a special job for you, one that you'd better not fuck up, or I'll hurt you, more than you can imagine." Jones smiled again, sucked down another shot of the whiskey, and then turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jordan to put away the groceries and start a meal.


	40. Chapter 40

As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think! :) Wasn't sure if I was going to get this one up or not, it's been a while since I've managed two in one day!

Still do not own and still make no money.

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**Chapter 40: Headache**

Wilber Humphrey Green, the sound of his own name rolling off the lips of Jeremiah Mercer still sent chills down his back. Hell, he should have known Bobby would let it out eventually. He had almost forgotten that Bobby Mercer knew his full name, though how the man had come to acquire that particular knowledge eluded him. The enunciation of each syllable had been over exaggerated by Jerry, and again by Angel, who seemed to feel a need to repeat it over, and over, and over again.

He closed the file that he'd been reviewing and looked up at the clock on the wall. It was after ten o'clock, and he was tempted to call Jerry or Angel to find out how it had gone with the District Attorney office. He sighed and struggled against the temptation. It was possible the teen was still being dragged through the difficult memories that were so badly needed by the prosecution on the case.

He hoped one of them would call him and let him know what was happening though. He somehow felt connected to the whole mess, to the Mercers, and he wanted everything to be good for them, once and for all, especially for Craig. For once in his career as a police officer he was seeing people with bad reputations, a bad history, picking their shit up and trying to make something of it, and he wanted to see them succeed. If it hadn't been for Victor Sweet, most of this never would have happened. Jerry would have had his project well under way, Miss Evelyn would still be alive, and Craig would probably still be a well adjusted, fully functional fourteen year old boy with more of a chance than any of his brothers had ever had. Though he believed that no matter what Sweet had done, somewhere along the line Macks would have made his move, and fate would have brought all of the Mercers back home one way or another. It was obvious that it didn't matter which member of the family was in trouble, the Mercers were a family.

Bobby did surprise him though. He thought he'd had him figured out years ago. He knew there was a side to Bobby that had been hidden, only shown to the closest people around him, but he honestly hadn't been sure about him being a parent type. He had taken on the role with Craig as he took anything on, full force and with all he had. He pitied the people who tried to screw that up, Jordan especially. If Macks were still alive, he was sure he wouldn't stay that way for long.

The man had lucked out really, dying quick without much suffering. If Bobby had been able to, he would have made it a long and drawn out death, anyone who knew Bobby knew that to be a fact. Just like the child molester who had shot Evelyn and made the attempt to take advantage of the emotionally traumatized teen right there in front of her dead body. Bobby had made sure the man knew every reason he was being executed, with three separate shots to the area of his body that had been a threat. Ridding the world of that sick fucker had probably saved more kids from being hurt.

Green gave his head a slight shake, trying to divert his thoughts. He had no proof that the Mercers had anything to do with the deaths of the hired gunmen who killed their mother. He had no proof at all, only his own instincts and knowledge of the case. None of them had confessed, thank God, or he would have had to make the arrest because it was his job. He didn't want a confession; he didn't want any of them to pay that price. The two dead shooters had been linked to Evelyn's death, and that, as far as he was concerned that was enough to chalk the whole thing up to a gangster hit, officially.

The phone on his desk rang out with no warning, and he reached to answer it, hoping it was some good news from someone, anyone. He was tired of getting the bad shit dumped on him, like having to deliver the news to the Mercers about the District Attorney wanting to get the statement from Craig.

"Green here," He spoke casually.

"Lieutenant Green?" The male voice on the other end of the phone was not familiar, and there seemed to be a note of apprehension behind it.

"Yes, this is Lieutenant Green." He confirmed, sitting back in his chair as he spoke. "Who am I speaking with?"

"Detective Green," The voice sounded as if he needed more confirmation, "The same detective working the Jordan case?"

Oh shit, another reporter. That's all he needed. He thought those calls were supposed to be blocked from the desk downstairs. A press release had been put out, stating as many of the facts as possible, but there seemed to be those few reporters who felt it necessary to try to get the big scoop. "Look, I don't know what paper, or T.V. station you are with, there is no statement to be made by this department…" Green started his well practiced speech, unprepared to be quieted by the words that hit him hard.

"I'm calling to confirm that Craig Mercer was the teenager in question in the Bradley Jordan case." The voice blurted the words out quickly, as if he were afraid of something.

Green sat up in his seat now, leaning across his desk and closer to the phone, to see the caller I.D. display. He picked up his ink pen and grabbed a hot pink sticky note to write on. He copied the number quickly, as his mind made an attempt to formulate a response to the statement. "This office is not at liberty to disclose any information, whether it be confirmation or denial. Who am I speaking to?"

"Lieutenant, I am with a paper," He named the paper he worked for but declined including his own name. "Look, I'm not after information, really, I just thought you would be interested in someone trying to sell the information to the papers. When I don't run this information in my story, my contact will simply contact another reporter. I just thought you should be aware, that's all."

Green scowled at the news, "Your contact?" He questioned.

"I was approached by a gentleman, and offered information for money. My editor paid nearly five thousand dollars, and my contact has more information that he wants to share, for more money. Now, your reaction confirms that the name he gave me is correct. I don't want to print the name of the kid in the paper, but, I got pressure from my boss, and damn it, I have to have something or my job is on the line." The man on the other end of the line sounded almost desperate. "Look, if I don't print the story, the contact will just go to another paper, and I can't stop that. I can, however, print a story that would acknowledge we know the name, and that it has been confirmed, but in the interest of the wellbeing of the juvenile, and not wishing to disrupt the legal system, that we have chosen to keep the information confidential. But I still need something that the other papers don't have, so that it doesn't sound as if we are blowing smoke, and I don't lose my job. It would keep the competition from printing the information, I'm sure. They wouldn't want to ruin their own image by degrading a teenage victim in a crime so serious."

Green felt the stabbing pain of a headache hit behind his eyes. Damn, why the hell did this have to happen now? He thought they were almost through with the bad shit, and now this, another headache to deal with. "I need your name, and I need the name of your informant." Green spoke quietly.

"I'm sorry, but the name of the man who gave me the information cannot be released." The voice actually sounded sorry. "I wish I could. Look, just meet with me, talk to me. There has to be some way that we can help each other out."

"What about your name?" Green pushed. "Do you really think I'm going to meet up with someone who sets it up on the phone, without offering his own name?"

"Dearth, Timothy Dearth." The voice was barely audible over the line.

Green wrote the name down next to the number. Yeah, he would meet up with this guy, after checking him out first. He needed to know just how the hell he'd gotten Craig Mercer's name. Jordan had been warned to keep away from the reporters, not that he would want to talk to them anyway. There was no one else, except for other police officers, and the Mercers themselves that he could think of that would have the information Dearth seemed to hold. There had to be a leak in the department, or in the prosecutor's office, somewhere. Damn, his head felt as if it were about to burst. He hadn't had one of these headaches since just before Christmas, when he was still working so closely with the FBI, struggling to get the smallest bit of information about their investigation on a daily basis. The hard part was supposed to be over witch Craig giving his statement. The rest of it was supposed to be routine, ending more than a month of investigating one of the most difficult cases of his career.

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Craig sat back in the chair. His head was pounding hard; his eyes were scratchy, and burning. He'd cried some more, as he delved deeper into the facts of what Jordan had done to him. He had turned a few times to make sure that his brothers were still close by, and he'd talked to Porter, answering the questions as best as he could. If the question confused him, he only needed to look to Robert, or Dr. Layne, and they would ask Porter to reword his inquiry, or ask a different question completely. Porter seemed to have found a comfortable format for his questions, being a little less aggressive, and giving the boy more time to respond, and now he had stated that he had no further questions. He had reached over and turned off the recorder.

Craig had found that drawing the pictures helped. When the questions involved Adam Macks' participation in the whole kidnapping scheme, Craig clammed up. He couldn't talk about the man. It was too hard, and he told Porter that. He asked him why he had to ask about Adam, and Porter answered him, stating that part of Jordan's defense was that Macks had blackmailed him into helping him, and he'd been forced to carry out any acts that had followed.

Craig now found himself at a loss of what to feel or think. Porter had turned off the recorder. He had let his mind fall into the pit of memories, and suddenly it was over, and he wasn't quite prepared for that. Robert reached out and patted the boy's arm. "We are done Craig. Would you like a few moments to pull yourself together before we leave?" He asked.

Craig looked at Robert and shook his head slowly. He could leave?

Dr. Layne started gathering her papers together and looked at the boy with a small smile. "I must admit that I'm impressed Craig. Evelyn definitely raised a fine young man. You showed a lot of strength, and you did quite well." Her eyes shined as she spoke.

Craig looked over at the door. His brothers were stretched out on the sofas there, looking bored, but talking quietly amongst themselves. Bobby was looking his direction. It felt as if it had been forever since he'd been walked into the room, leaving his brothers behind him, and he now he wasn't sure if he was allowed to stand and leave or not. He turned and looked at Robert, who was returning his papers to his briefcase. "I can go?" He asked.

"Yes, Craig, you may go." Porter answered the question as he stood and held a hand out towards him. "Thank you, very much for doing this. I know it wasn't easy, but I promise, with what you said here today, we should be able to make sure Jordan pays the price for what he did to you."

Craig stared at the offered hand for a moment. He didn't want to take a hold of it. He didn't want someone else touching him. Porter wasn't being threatening, he wasn't being intrusive, and he actually seemed like someone Craig could like if he'd met him under different circumstances. He pushed his own uneasiness aside and reached out, allowing the man to shake his hand.

"Now, get out of here. Your brothers are waiting." Porter smiled.

Craig felt more tears coming on as he stood and headed for the door, leaving Robert behind to gather his papers, and not saying a word to Dr. Layne, though he didn't mean to be rude.

Bobby apparently seen him and stood, stepping towards the door. Craig pushed his way through the door and dove into Bobby, the tears bursting out as his arms encircled the man's neck and his face burrowed deep into his chest. "I want to go home." He cried. "Please, I want to go home." He clung to the man and welcomed the feel of his arms around him, in a hard hug.

"Hey, it's okay." Bobby spoke quietly into his ear.

Craig felt crowded almost instantly, but it was a good feeling. He felt hands on him, and their voices drifted around him, confirming Bobby's statement and adding that they loved him. He drank in the feel of all four of his brothers and it did help, some.

"He did quite well." Robert's voice finally carried past Jack, Angel and Jerry's quiet words. "You should all be proud." He added.

Bobby gave him a tight squeeze. "We were already proud." He spoke normally. "We can go?" He asked.

"Yes, we can go." Robert answered.

Craig didn't want to let go of Bobby, but the man pulled him back. "Come on, I can't carry you." He kept one arm around the teen and walked him across the room.

The walk to the elevator, and the ride down to the main lobby was nothing more than a blur to the boy. He was thankful to get into the car where he could curl up to Bobby and let go of the tension that had built up in that room.

Bobby let him cry for a little while, and then looked down at him. "Do you really need to go home?" Bobby asked. "We were going to go and watch Angel and Jack interview people, remember?" He asked.

Craig shook his head. "Please, I want to go home." He didn't add that he didn't want to be around people, he didn't want people looking at him. "My head hurts." He muttered, hoping that would help his argument without having to lead into the real reason he didn't want to go.

"I got aspirin." Jerry spoke up from the driver's seat.

"Craig, I told you before, I don't want you hiding away in the house. That ain't gonna do you no good. Jerry says he's got an office set up in that building of his that's pretty damn nice; I'd kind of like to see it. You won't be in the middle of all the action, I promise. Jerry even has a cot set up so you can lie down if you want, but I really think you should go, and try to forget about some of the other shit for a while. Come on, I need someone to help me make fun of your brothers, looking all business like in their fancy clothes." Bobby managed a laugh and looked over at Jack who was sitting on the other side of Craig. "I mean, come on, did you see Jackie's hair?" He managed to pull a face of mock disgust. "Damn, I thought he was a fairy before, but now he's looking more the part, with his silky shirt and that fucking tie." He reached out with one hand to pull Jack's coat away. "That tie has pink in it!" He looked at Jack, "What hell?"

"It's not pink, it's rose, and it looks damn good on me. You're just jealous that you can't wear anything like this without looking like some kind of a fucking accountant." Jack grinned back at Bobby.

Craig didn't bother to argue about going, it was obvious that he wasn't really being given a choice. Jerry hadn't once diverted from his current direction, which would be taking them to the building he'd shown all of his brothers before, the one he wanted to renovate and turn into something useful instead of the empty, ugly eyesore that it was now.

He sighed and let his body rest against Bobby. His brother was probably right; it was probably not healthy to hide from the rest of the world. He did want to hide, and he wasn't ashamed of admitting it. He didn't want to feel other people looking at him. There was a fear of someone touching him wrong as well. A fear that he knew was unfounded, especially if his brothers were going to be right there with him, and he knew they would be. It didn't make the fear any less intense though.

"So, who's hungry?" Jerry spoke after a moment of silence. "It's after eleven. I'm sure Craig need's to eat, right?" He asked. "We can stop for some Chinese on the way in." He suggested.

Bobby straightened up slightly in his seat. "That sounds good, your treat?" He pushed.

"No." Angel and Jack both spoke out quickly, and louder than necessary to be heard.

Bobby and Jerry both looked surprised.

"We are going to be eating Chinese for a week at home; we damn sure ain't gonna order more." Angel spoke quickly. "If we stop for food we need to get something a damn site better than Chinese. Let's stop at that submarine place." He suggested.

"Sounds good," Jerry laughed as he shrugged his shoulders. "And yes, I'm paying." He laughed as he glanced at Bobby in the mirror.

"Good." Bobby nodded his head as if he were giving his approval. "Then subs it is." He looked down at Craig. "You can eat, take your pills, and then lay down." He spoke calmly. "Okay with you?"

Craig shrugged his shoulders and let his head rest against his brother's chest. His head seemed to be aching a little more intensely, and he wished he could just go home.

"You want to tell me how it went in that room?" Bobby asked quietly. "You okay?"

Craig shook his head. He didn't want to think about what he'd had to say, and the images he'd drawn for Porter to keep. He didn't want to think about the fears that had welled up and the urge of running out of there that he'd had to fight down the entire time. He just wanted to forget it. It was over, and he didn't want to think about it, just like he didn't want to think about the rest of the bad memories in his head. The memories that had been stirred up and were now pounding against the inside of his skull wanting to get out again.

Craig was thankful that Bobby didn't push it any further. He paid little attention to the stop they made at a drive through at a small local fast food restaurant, until his brothers started arguing over what they were going to get. All four of them, debated which sub was the best, and changed their order six times before finally deciding on what they were getting. When Bobby asked him what he wanted he just shrugged his shoulders again. He wasn't really hungry. Bobby gave him a look, but didn't mention the fact that he'd avoided answering his questions three times now. He listened while Bobby ordered him a chicken sub and some onion rings.

When they got to the warehouse Jerry was so proud of there were two familiar cars parked out front. Angel looked at the V.W. and turned to Jerry before getting out of the vehicle. "What the hell is Sofi doing here?" He cried out.

Jerry looked at Angel with a scowl. "You're the one who told her she could be your secretary. She and Camille both have their neat little desks, with their frilly curtains in the windows and pink coffee cups." He shook his head. "Once you open Pandora's Box you gotta face the fucking consequences little brother." He sighed and picked up two of the bags in the front seat. "Let's go, they've been dealing with the applications and interviews, I'm afraid of who they might decide to hire, even if Evan and Charlie are here to oversee some of the interviews."

Bobby laughed. "Oh great," He shook his head as he looked at Jack. "None of us can even go to work to get away from the crazy bitch."

Jack laughed as he opened his door. He looked down at Craig. "How much you wanna bet there are butterflies all over the place?"

Craig stared at jack for a moment before the joke sunk in. Butterflies, in a room full of pink flashed through his head. "Glow in the dark." He muttered.

Jack grinned. "Yeah," He nodded his head. "You know, you could probably use a trim." He reached out and ruffled Craig's hair.

Craig let the joke end there. He didn't know how to tell Jack that the subject of the haircut and the butterflies felt almost as threatening as being surrounded by people. The memories were already swirling, and his mind was able to grasp onto the feelings he'd been experiencing that night, when he'd set his brother up to be bathed by Sofi's mother, and Sofi had cut his hair. He didn't want to think about Jack being upset with him, or what had taken place not long after Jack had allowed him to crawl into his bed with him.

His head was hurting more now than it had been. He hoped there weren't many people in the office. He hoped he could get away with eating as little as possible, and being allowed to lie down by himself and hide from what the events of that morning. He just needed to escape for a little while.


	41. Chapter 41

Oh boy, it's after 11:30 here an I have to get up in four hours :( I think I might have lost track off time here! Let me know your thoughts, and thanks to all for reading :) Special thanks to those of you that review every chapter, I look forward to those reviews every day!

Legal stuff still counts...

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**Chapter 41: The Office**

"Not bad Jerry. This is actually pretty nice, considering the neighborhood." Bobby spoke quietly as Jerry led them through the door of the office area which was situated on the bottom floor of the building. The space was big, and there were comfortable chairs seating three applicants near the entry. There was grey carpet on the floor with colored specks running through it, and the walls were painted grey as well, though the paint stopped a few feet from the ceiling, a tell tale sign that the work was only partially finished. On the opposite end of the room were two metal desks, obviously used and purchased by Jerry at a discount, unless he'd found them sitting around there in the building. Their tan sides had little dents and dings, and rust spotted the corners and edges, so the idea of them being salvaged from the rest of the junk that had been abandoned in the building wasn't too far out of reach either. He almost felt relief to see Camille and Sofi seated at each desk, each dealing several applicants. There was no loss for the need of jobs in the city so Jerry was expecting a lot of people.

There were only a few there now, the three sitting in the chairs closer to the door, working on filling out applications, and another five gathered around the desks with Sofi and Camille, asking questions about the jobs being offered. Some of the men seemed to know Jerry, and turned and greeted him as they walked past to the door leading back into the main office.

Craig did all he could to avoid looking at any of the strangers in the room. He didn't want to draw their attention to him or acknowledge their presence. He would have preferred not to be there with so many strange men gathered together in one room. He purposely raised his eyes upward to where the paint ended and the remains the original paint was exposed, peeling away from the steel beams. He studied the area while Jerry pointed towards it and explained to Bobby what work he needed to finish.

The plaster board walls up towards the top were deteriorating, and would need replaced. Jerry had been doing a lot of cleaning up and he'd worked some on the cosmetics of the space he'd claimed for the company, but there was still a lot of work to do. He had been pressed for time to get his business on a steady foothold, and now he was trying to cram a lot of things into the small area he had managed to work on. Sure, the space seemed big now, but he needed to bust out some walls towards the back so that he could get offices added on for his brothers. They were going to need more office staff as well, so they were going to needs office areas, and desks. Jerry kept rambling on as they passed Sofi and Camille, moving towards the door that led back to Jerry's office.

Craig kept close to Bobby, and Angel and Jack were directly behind him, but he still wished he could feel Bobby's arm resting across his shoulders. It had come to be the one thing that made him feel safe. He fought off the urge to grab hold of his brother's arm in an attempt to capture a small bit of the security he felt he was lacking.

His chest constricted as Jerry came to a halt at the desks and moved to greet Camille, which brought the entire group of brothers to a stop. He didn't want to stop, not in front of the men surrounding the desks. Of course he should have expected his brothers to want to stop and talk to the women seated there. Angel didn't hesitate in moving to Sofi's side and leaning down to her, pulling Sofi's attention away from the man she'd been speaking with.

Bobby rolled his eyes and turned to look at Jack. "Well I can see just how this is going to go. They're both whipped, they won't be doing one bit of work, they'll be out here with their women from the start of the morning to the end of the day and you know what that's gonna mean, right?"

"Yeah, all the work is gonna be left up to you and me." Jack agreed with a small smile.

"The hell it will, you really think I plan on doing any work Cracker Jack? I'm just gonna walk around and look pissed off." Bobby shook his head, looking serious. "That leaves all the real work to you."

"Fuck you Bobby." Jack didn't look the least bit phased by Bobby's remark, but it was his own response that brought on a look of pain as he waited for Bobby's response.

"We've discussed this before Jackie, and I really don't want to get into it here, in front of strangers, but you know what my answer to that one is." Bobby looked triumphant as he looked down at Craig. "Come on, let's go check out Jerry's private space and see what kind of trouble we can get into." He pointed to the closed door situated behind the two desks.

Craig didn't try to walk; his feet didn't want to move for some reason. He was in the presence of people he didn't know, and he was unable to really control his own muscles. They were tensing up on him. He wanted to retreat to Jerry's office more than anything at that moment, but part of him was afraid that the act of walking would draw attention to him, though no one except Bobby and Jack seemed to be taking any notice of him at that moment.

"Come on." Bobby pulled his arm up and rested it on Craig's shoulder, guiding him on ahead of him to the door. He reached around the teen and opened the door for him before giving him that last nudge into the security of privacy.

Jack followed them in, and seemed familiar with his surroundings, taking wide strides over to the shelves behind Jerry's desk to turn on the small television that was resting there.

"Television, hell now no work will ever get done." Bobby grumbled. "Give me the remote." He held his hand out towards Jack.

Jack grinned and looked over his older brother. "Well, you're going to be disappointed, but this one doesn't come with a remote."

Craig, as uncomfortable as he was at that moment had to smile at the idea of Bobby being stuck with a television that he had to actually stand up and walk to in order to do any channel surfing. The look on his brother's face was even better, with his eyes showing disbelief and his mouth fall open as if he were going to say something, but no words came.

Bobby shook his head. "We're gonna have to do something about that." He finally managed to speak. He looked down at Craig and gave him a questioning look. "You find that funny for some reason?" He asked.

"Yeah, I do." Craig managed to increase his smile slightly.

"You sit your ass down and I'll go back out and get your food." Bobby tried to sound irritated, but it didn't work. There was a smile behind his eyes that Craig was starting to recognize. At one time he would have believed that his brother was pissed, but now he could see that wasn't the fact. He walked over to the metal folding chair that Bobby pointed to. There were several of them sitting around the beat up wood desk Jerry had claimed as his. He sat down and let his arms cross on the real wood grain, dropping his chin to rest on them. He could see Bobby out of the corner of his eye as he moved back through the door, closing it behind him.

Jack started laughing, for no apparent reason. Craig looked up at him, leaving his chin comfortably cradled on his arm. "What's so funny?" He asked quietly.

Jack looked at him and held up a remote control. "He's really gonna be pissed when he walks over here to turn the station and there ain't any buttons or knobs to hit. It's a brand new television, you have to use the remote control; there are no other controls on it." He explained as he carefully tucked the controller into his coat pocket and sat down in the office chair behind the desk, propping his old boots on the desk top. "So, what do you think? It's a start here, right?" He looked around the room. Fresh drywall had been hung, but it hadn't been painted. The ceiling was covered in yellow spots from obvious leaks.

"It looks like an old abandoned office that someone is trying to fix up." Craig muttered and looked at Jack, not sure what exactly what his brother wanted him to say. He didn't care about the office, he didn't want to be there at that moment, and he wasn't planning on working there when he was older, no matter what any of his brothers said. He didn't know what he wanted to do, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to be there, trudging though the same streets and alleys, trying to stay safe and ignore the demons the whole city seemed to harbor. His brothers had all gone away, gone to lead their own lives the way they wanted, why couldn't he? Why couldn't he leave as soon as he was finished with school and go and do what he wanted, whatever it might be at the time?

"Yeah, but look at what it could be once it's been completed?" Jack pushed as he motioned to the walls surrounding them.

"Who cares?" Craig muttered, not meaning to sound so miserable, but apparently his feelings were showing. He wanted to be at home, not there, he felt exposed, and his nerves were raw from his time with Mr. Porter.

"Craig, if Bobby had taken you home what would it have accomplished?" Jack asked.

Craig looked at Jack, not sure why his brother had to bring it up. "I would have been home." He stated the obvious as he shifted his gazed down to the wood grain under his arms. Real wood not laminate, and as he raised his left index finger to trace it he could feel the grooves running against his finger tip and somehow it seemed to make him feel better. He couldn't help but think that with a good sanding and a new finish applied the desk could look almost like new. It was like him, beaten and abused, and it needed some attention to be put back to the some sort of normal condition. He felt he needed something in order to be put back to normal, but he didn't know what that something could be.

"You would have been at home, feeling safe, right? Why would have felt safe?" Jack pushed and Craig could feel his brother's gaze on him without looking up to meet it.

Craig shrugged his shoulders slightly, not wanting to talk about it, and not understanding why Jack couldn't just let it be for now.

"You would have felt safe because you would have been home, with Bobby, because we both know he wouldn't have let you stay by yourself." Jack went on. "So, Bobby's here with you. You're just as safe as you would have been at the house."

Craig couldn't hold it back any longer. Jack was pushing and he thought he understood, but he didn't. He raised his eyes to look at his brother. "At home, no one could look at me. I don't want to be around other people, I don't feel right."

Jack nodded his head. "But you are in here, away from the people, and I don't think Bobby is about to let anyone come in here, around you." He let his feet drop from the desk with a loud thump as the door opened and Bobby stepped in carrying the sacks of food, the conversation obviously was over. Bobby was followed by Jerry and Angel. Camille was walking next to Jerry, holding applications in her hand and pointing to certain possible candidates for some of the positions they needed to fill quickly. She let Jerry take the papers after a few moments and gave him a quick kiss.

"Now, babe, I told you no kissing at work." Jerry looked at his wife as he used his hands to even up the papers in his hands. "This is my business, and we gotta keep business and personal separate in here, I ain't gonna tell you that again." He was trying to sound as if he were being firm, but his eyes seemed to dance when he looked at his wife.

"We aren't out in the front where everyone else can see us. I want some sugar from my baby." Camille leaned in again and stole one last quick peck on Jerry's lips before turning and walking out.

Jerry watched her walking away and smiled as she shut the door. "Damn, I'm lucky." He said quietly, seemingly unaware all eyes were focused on him at that moment.

"What the hell was that? You just jumped my ass for giving Sofi a kiss out there, and there you go, kissing all over your woman?" Angel spoke up first.

Jerry turned and looked at Angel. "Well, like she pointed out, there wasn't anyone but family in here to see." He spoke casually as he walked across the room and around his desk. "Jackie, get your ass out of my chair." He set the applications down on the desk.

Craig sat up when Bobby sat next to him. He remained silent while Bobby started pulling subs out of the bags, and naming off what was written on them. He pushed one in front of Craig, as well as the onion rings in their cardboard box, and then pulled a carton of milk out of the bag as well. "You eat this, and then you can lie down. Jerry where the hell is that cot you were talking about?" He looked across the desk at Jerry.

"I set it up in there." Jerry pointed to a thin wooden door on the side wall. "That's going to be the executive restroom when I'm finished with it. Right now there's nothing in there except for the cot. We can leave the door open, or close it, which ever Craig prefers." He removed the wrapping from his sandwich. "We got a few possible here for some of the positions that need to be filled for the office." He looked down at the papers. "Some of these guys were in here bright and early this morning. This one, Jones, said he'd be back this afternoon. He told Camille he was very excited about working for us, heard a lot of good things about the union work I did." He smiled, a little of his pride showing through. "I can't wait to meet him. He might be perfect for a position in the warehouse. He seems to have some experience in management." He picked up the application and read through it while he chewed on his food.

"Shit, you're just all up for him because he sucked up to your wife and told her how great you were." Angel laughed.

"Damn straight." Jerry swallowed his food as he looked up at Angel and smiled.

"So, Jerry, where did you want me and Angel, I mean we did come in here to do interviews for the afternoon, right?" Jack asked.

"Yes, you did. I have another room set up for one on one interviews, just off the front lobby." Jerry looked at Jack.

Craig sat back in his chair as the conversation became less interesting to listen to. His brothers were talking about what they were looking for on the applications, and what kind of experience they wanted their new employees to have. Most were going to be workers out in the field, but some were going to be in the office.

The teen stared at his untouched sub still wrapped up in the paper and foil. He knew there was no way he was going to be able to get any food down. His throat still felt tight, and his stomach felt as if it were full. He looked at the cans of soda his brothers were drinking with their food and wondered why Bobby seemed to think he had to have milk with every meal. It was a little irritating. The first soda he'd had in a long time had been in that room while he was twisting his gut around the crap they were asking him, so it wasn't as if he'd had a chance to enjoy it. His gut wouldn't untwist now, and he didn't know what to do to make it stop aching.

Bobby didn't say anything to him at first, though he did look over at him a couple of times during the conversation. Craig wasn't surprised when Bobby picked up his untouched sandwich and started peeling the wrapper off of it. He set it back down on the desk, reached for Craig's arm and pulled him back up within reach of the food. "Start eating little brother." His voice came out calm while he took on the task of opening the carton of milk.

Craig sighed as he picked up half the sub and held it up to his nose, sniffing at it a little. The sliced chicken covered with lettuce and tomato didn't smell bad, but it didn't smell good to him. He didn't have the appetite. What if he threw up again? He hated the feeling of getting sick, and the idea of it was lingering in the back of his mind. The questioning was over, and he'd made it through, but he still felt the same kind of fear and his nerves were wound tight after the hours he'd spent describing what Jordan did to him. The experience was one he'd prefer to forget, but he couldn't wipe it out of his mind, it was just one more bad memory to pile on top of the thousands that seemed to be lurking behind his brain, waiting to pounce on him at any time.

Bobby grabbed one of his onion rings and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing on it casually. He kept checking on Craig's progress, but didn't say anything. Craig used his fingers to pick some of the chicken away from the bun and he put it into his mouth, knowing that he was unintentionally testing Bobby's patience. He chewed on it slowly, before tearing away some of the bun and repeating the action. He picked the lettuce and tomato off, depositing it onto the paper on the desk, and worked on just the chicken and bun one tear at a time. He couldn't stand the thought of putting it up to his mouth and actually taking a bite of it, it would have felt wrong. He remained silent while he struggled with the task, and watched as Bobby ate his onion rings for him. He was thankful after he'd forced half of what he was holding in his hands into his mouth and Bobby reached out and took it from him.

"Okay, I think that's enough." Bobby wrapped the rest of the sandwich up and started pulling pill bottles out of his jacket pocket. He had become quite good at knowing how many of each medication Craig needed at different times. He held the pills out to him and pointed to the milk. "Get these down and then you can lie down for a while." He told him quietly.

Craig didn't appreciate the feeling that he was getting from his brothers at that moment. They all seemed to be looking at him, and he hated it. He hated the idea of taking the pills too. He didn't want to feel the drowsy effects of the drugs, not there, not away from home. He made a face and looked up at Bobby, about to ask if he could skip the pills, but the man's look stopped him. He took the pills and used the milk to wash them down.

Bobby stood and walked over to the door Jerry had pointed out when he'd asked about the cot. He pulled it open and looked inside. "This is going to be a restroom Jerr'?" He looked inside. "Damn, now this would be my kind of office. There's enough room in here for my desk, right?" He laughed as he turned and looked back at his brothers gathered around the desk. "What do you think Angel, it would free up the toilet at home."

"That shit ain't funny." Angel spoke up.

Craig found himself lost on the conversation, and the looks passing between Bobby and Angel. It was a joke he was not aware of, something that was between them. He couldn't stop the uneasy feeling that hit him. He knew his brothers wouldn't always share everything with him, and it didn't mean he didn't fit in. He knew that, but it still brought back the old feelings at times, and this was one of those times.

"Hell, I do my best work in the shitter, remember?" Bobby laughed.

"Yeah, only because you're so good at flinging the shit around," He laughed at his own joke, though Craig didn't get it.

"Come on Craig, we'll leave the door open so you ain't in the dark." Bobby motioned for the boy to join him at the door.

Craig looked at Bobby for a moment. He had wanted to get away to himself for a while, and escape the feelings inside of him, but he wasn't so sure about it now. He felt tense, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to be in a different room. He stepped over and looked past Bobby into the walk-in closet sized room. He felt his insides freeze up on him as the memories of closets hit his brain. "No." He shook his head. "I can't go in there." He backed up a step while he continued to stare into the confined space on the other side of the door. It wasn't really that small, it was large enough to be a restroom at some time in the future, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was nothing more than a closet and he couldn't stand the idea of going into it.

Bobby looked surprised. "What's wrong with it? It's got carpet and the cot is right here close to the door. You can lay down here and see everything going on."

"Please Bobby, I can't go in there." He kept his eyes focused on the back wall of the room, and his body shivered.

"Okay." Jerry spoke up. "Pull it out here." He stood and walked over. "We can put it behind the desk." He didn't wait for Bobby to approve or agree; he stepped past both of them and tossed the pillow and blanket at Bobby. "Make yourself useful." He grinned at him before he started tearing down the cot to move it.

Bobby turned to look at Craig. "Okay, you can sleep out here." He held the blanket and pillow out towards Craig to take. "Go get your shoes off your feet." He waited until Craig had the items hugged to his chest before stepping in to help Jerry with the cot.

Craig was surprised when Jack and Angel stepped over to see if they could help. Jack took the bedding from the boy and pointed to his feet. "You'd better get those off." He told him. Craig stepped over to the desk and kicked his shoes off without reaching down to untie them. He gave them a tiny kick to hide them under the desk and then stood back to watch his brothers struggling with what should have been a fairly simple task.

It didn't take long for the cot to be moved behind desk, though Bobby was swearing the whole time and calling out orders as Jerry and Angel helped him carried the bulky object.

Bobby made Craig take the leather coat off, though the teen didn't want to. He liked the way the coat seemed to swallow him up and hold onto him. He lay down with the pillow and Bobby dropped the blanket over him. The drugs were starting to kick in, and Craig could feel the unpleasant effects, being sucked into a state of sleep. He had wanted to sleep before, he'd wanted to pull inside of himself and hide for a little while, but the pills didn't let that happen, not the way he wanted. He hated feeling drugged, and he couldn't stand the idea of not having control over it. Bobby crouched next to him and got in close. "You sleep for a little bit, and when you wake up, me and you can walk around here and really check the place out. We need to tell Jerry what the hell he needs to do to make this place really look good. "

Craig didn't bother trying to comment, his eyes were feeling dry and heavy. He stared at Bobby though, not wanting to give into the drug induced sleep.

"I told him earlier that it looked good, but let's face it this place is nothing but a dump." Bobby shook his head, keeping his voice quiet.

Craig lost the fight and his eyes slipped closed. He felt Bobby rest a hand on his forehead for a moment, and was soon lost in dark dreams that seemed to jump in and out of his head. He remembered wishing that he was home, and from time to time he could hear his brothers talking quietly, but all else was lost to the dreams.


	42. Chapter 42

Thanks for the reviews! I know I've said it before, but you guys are the best! Thanks to all for reading.

Don't own, make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 42: Collision**

Craig felt Adam Macks breathing down on him; he felt the hot breath and smelled the whiskey mixed with the stale tobacco. His eyes stung from the fumes that seemed to emanate from him. He couldn't see him, but he could feel him, and smell him, and sense his presence. He tried to pull away, tried to find a safe place to hide, but he was blanketed by a hazy, grey mist, swirling around him, blocking out all that surrounded him. The next thing he knew he was falling and he could feel icy fingers grabbing hold of his ankles, pulling him down. He reached for something, anything to take hold of and pull himself free, but when he turned and looked down, the elusive Adam was below him, clutching on, and dragging him down towards a half frozen sea of dead bodies. He tried to scream out, but there was no voice behind it. He was certain he heard his brothers' voices swimming around him, and he tried to call out to them as his legs hit the frozen water. Adam's hands moved up, gripping around his knees, and then again they snaked up to take hold around his stomach, pulling him further and further away from safety, his body was sliding into the frozen depths below and he couldn't stop it, he wasn't able to grab onto anything, there was nothing there. He felt Adam's arms around his throat. "Did you miss me, son?" The man laughed wickedly and gave him one last tug. Just as he was about to lose his grip on the invisible edge of whatever he was falling off of, hands grabbed his wrists, and he looked up, to see Bobby's eyes staring down at him.

Craig woke instantly, sucking in a deep breath. His mind wasn't groggy, it was alert, there was no panic inside of him, only the haunting feeling of having been connected to something more than he could understand. Had it been Adam's ghost coming back to haunt him in his dreams? It wouldn't surprise him. One thing he had always come to expect was for the man to always return, in one form or another. He always came back, and he couldn't get that out of his head. He let his mind take in his surroundings. He knew he was at the office, though he would have preferred to go home. He knew his brothers were supposed to be overseeing interviews. He sat up slowly and could see Bobby sitting in one of the metal folding chairs, watching the television on the shelf, though he looked bored.

Craig almost spoke, but Bobby looked over at him and smiled. "You slept pretty good, huh?" He asked.

Craig nodded his head not wanting to try to tell Bobby about his dream. "I gotta pee." He spoke before he realized his bladder was indeed aching.

Bobby nodded his head. "Okay, get your shoes." He seemed to welcome the chance to get out of Jerry's office.

Craig slowly stood and tried to remember where he'd kicked his shoes when he'd taken them off. He bent over and located them under the desk. They were close enough to the edge that he could grab them without having to get on the floor.

"Why do you do that?" Bobby laughed.

"Do what?" Craig sat in the nearest chair and started putting on his shoes.

"When you take your shoes off, why do you kick them under something? Wouldn't it be easier to pick them up and put them in a certain area so you know where they are when you need them?" Bobby watched Craig tie each shoe.

"Not at the time." Craig muttered. "Where is everyone?" He asked, though he was sure they were doing the job they had come there to do, interviewing possible employees.

"Angel and Jack are in the other room interviewing people, and Jerry is walking some guy around, showing him the place. He's pretty much hired him." Bobby stood and waited for Craig to follow his lead before opening the door and walking out.

Craig followed Bobby closely. He was surprised to see more people in the lobby than had been there earlier. He recognized Evan, and Charlie. Jerry had already set them up with jobs, and they were doing some of the interviews for brick layers and carpenters. The place felt crowded, and Craig could feel the air being sucked out of the room as soon as he stepped into it. He started to reach for Bobby's arm, but thought twice of it. He didn't want to cling to the man like a small child in front of so many people, he was sure that would draw attention to him more than just walking through quietly, with his head down to avoid any eye contact.

He followed Bobby to a door on the other side of Sofi and Camille's desks. Bobby opened it for Craig to walk through. It led to a short hall way, and on his left was a door with 'Women' painted in pink on it, and on the right the door was labeled 'Men'. Craig looked at the pink paint and turned and looked at Bobby, "Sofi?" He pointed as he asked the one worded question.

"You bet." Bobby rolled his eyes and pointed to the other door. "Get your business taken care of; I want to go see what Angel and Jack are doing."

Craig wasn't surprised to find the restroom in the same kind of shape as the lobby and Jerry's office, with just the bare minimum completed, just enough to pass inspection. He peed as quickly as he could; surprised that he had been able to sleep through having to pee so badly. His mind tried to bring back the dream that had brought him out of his sleep, but he fought against it. He didn't want to think about it, or how real it had felt. For once it hadn't been a nightmare full of memories of actual events, it had been something out of sorts, and made up, but it had seemed real, and familiar. Real enough that he was almost sure he could still feel Adam Macks' breath on him.

He knew it may have partially been a memory of that icy dock, and nearly falling into the frozen pond with his father, but his father hadn't grabbed hold of him and pulled him down. Had he? His mind was starting to play games with him now, mixing the reality of what had happened with the feel of Adam's fingers gripping onto him in his dream. The feel of the ice and water sucking him down had been so much like the feel of fingers, wrapping around him, pinching hard into his skin, and it had almost been as if he'd been pulled, not just falling. His memory of that was vague for the most part, what stood out for him was feeling Bobby's hands grabbing him, and looking up to see his brother's face looking down at him, saving him.

The teen shook the thoughts out of his head. He didn't want to try to deal with anything, not there, not now. Not when he was around other people, around strangers. It wasn't the same as when he was at home, behind the walls of his mother's house. He still felt as if the world was pressing against him, and he hated it. He didn't feel safe, and he didn't feel comfortable. He understood what Bobby had said before, he knew he couldn't hide out at home, he had to get used to going out and being around other people. He had been able to forget his fears before, at the ice rink, and again the previous morning when Bobby and Jack had gone outside with him, but there really hadn't been anyone else around.

His mind reached back to Wednesday morning, just two days earlier, to the parking lot outside of the drug store Bobby had stopped at. He had been ready to run, ready to get away from the eyes of people walking past him, convinced that each and every one of them could look at him and see just what he was. It seemed so much had happened in that short time, and really it had. He'd busted wide open with his brothers, and they had made it better, in their own way. He'd told them so much, and yet it seemed like he'd shared so little.

There seemed to be more inside of him that he wasn't sure he could face. The fears of a dead man coming back for him were unreasonable, and stupid, he knew that deep down, but it was still there. Green had told them that Macks was dead. They had a body. Still, there was a nagging feeling inside of him that wouldn't go away. They hadn't been able to identify the body, right? They hadn't been able to say it looked like Adam Macks, and that the rest of it, the DNA that they had to test, or whatever they were doing, was just formality. They had to check the DNA before they could confirm it was him. What if it wasn't him? What if he wasn't dead and it was someone else that he'd killed and tossed into the water? It was possible. Adam Macks was capable of killing that had already been proven. Craig could almost feel the bullet that had been shot into him as he thought of that. Adam Macks had killed his mother, and had tried to kill him.

Pounding on the door brought the boy out of his thoughts. "Come on kid, get a move on, there's no way you're that full of piss." Bobby called through the door.

Craig realized he was standing there, finished, but just standing. He quickly pulled up his jeans and fastened them before flushing the toilet. He wasn't surprised to find there was no hot water when he went to wash his hands, and even less surprised to realize there was nothing to dry his wet hands on. He quickly rubbed them down his jeans to get the water off, and opened the door to find Bobby leaning back against the wall. He let the door close after him.

"What the fuck took you so long? Hell, I was about to come in there to hunt you down." Bobby shook his head, trying to sound irritated, but Craig could tell he was mostly teasing him.

"Sorry." Craig looked at the pink 'Women' painted on the door opposite of him in the hall. "Bobby?" He looked up at his brother. "Can I look in there?" He asked quietly.

Bobby scowled. "It's a fucking restroom, why would you want to look in there?" He asked the question before he could stop himself.

"I've never seen a girl's restroom before." Craig shrugged slightly, suddenly feeling stupid for asking.

Bobby grinned and seemed to understand. "Okay, but you must never reveal to any other man on the face of the earth what is in a ladies room. You got that? There are very few men who ever witnessed what you are about to witness." Bobby took a small step closer to him and spoke the words quietly. "Now, the one thing you have to keep in mind is women rule that room and each one is different is some ways, but all have the same basic shit in them. Tampons, scented soap, hand lotion, flowers and hair spray." He sounded serious as he spoke. "And they don't like men sticking their noses in their space so you can't let them know you looked."

Craig felt a little confused. "It's not that big of a deal, I just wanted to…" He knew Bobby was teasing, or at least he thought he knew Bobby was teasing.

"I mean it; you check it out and tell me if I'm right." Bobby pointed to the door.

Craig stepped over to the door and opened it slowly, not sure of what to expect. He snaked his head around the door and looked at the sink that seemed to match the one in the men's room, and the commode was the same, except for the small vase of fake flowers on the back of it. There was a shelf on the wall and it held a box of tampons and a can of hairspray. His eyes moved back to the sink for a better look there, and found a bottle of jasmine scented soap and a bottle of hand lotion. He pulled himself back from the door and let it close. He turned and looked at Bobby, amazed at first that his brother had been so accurate. Then his mind reasoned that Bobby had been too accurate. "You looked in there already, didn't you?" He asked.

The corners of Bobby's eyes twitched slightly before he put on one of his mock expressions, this one of being shocked by the accusation. "I cannot believe you would say something like that to me. I was right, wasn't I? I didn't have to look, hell I've been in a hundred ladies rooms."

Craig sighed, "Bullsh…" He stopped himself from completing his thought as quickly as it had come into his head.

"What?" Bobby almost smiled at him.

"I said 'bull'." Craig muttered.

Bobby laughed. "Come on; let me take you on a tour so you know where everything is." He reached his arm out and let it fall across Craig's shoulder before guiding on down the hall.

* * *

Jones sighed as he stared at his reflection. He had unwrapped Macks long enough for a hot shower and a shave, and now his counterpart was again tucked neatly away behind a false face. His morning had been a full one. He was feeling exhausted, but Macks felt energized. He was so close to getting what he deserved, finally. He had managed to get some cash from Dearth's editor, and while he hoped he'd given him just enough information o entice him to want more, he didn't really care. He'd received more money than he'd counted on, enough that he could take care of his business and move on before anyone ever knew he'd been there.

After he'd left Dearth he had met Higgins for an update on 'things'. The look on Higgins' face when he seen him was something he'd never forget. The cop hadn't believed he was who he said he was and it had needed a little convincing before he'd talk to him. Apparently his sweet son was giving some kind of statement to the District Attorney's office, to seal Jordan's fate up tight for his actions. He wondered if that meant Jeremiah Mercer wouldn't be available for interviewing and he wanted very badly to look that man in the eye and play his little game with him. He was disappointed to find Mercer had left his business dealings up to his wife for the morning. He was informed that Jeremiah planned on being there to conduct interviews personally that afternoon, and after he'd handed his work application over Mrs. Mercer asked him to return later so that her husband could talk to him then. He had talked himself up good on the application, naming jobs for companies that he had made up on the spot.

Macks was amazed at how good Jones was at lying. He could come up with just about anything on the spot, with no warning. Jones wasn't about to admit to Macks that he'd been thinking about what kind of job history a man with no history could have that would make him desirable enough for Mercer to want to employ. He was sure that the man was going to need someone who claimed to have experience with logistics, and keeping supplies stocked without running low on money. He also figured that a long list of employers wouldn't look too good. He had to make it look as if he was good enough at his job to keep it long term. Of course, if the company was shut down it would make it more difficult to check into that job history. So he kept his imaginary job experience down to two, both long term, and both involving running a warehouse, though he had no idea what that entailed.

After he'd finished with his business of applying for a job with Mercer he had moved on to pay the overdue bills he'd found lying on Jordan's kitchen counter. He needed to make sure the electric remained on, and the phone, for however long he was going to be stuck there hiding out. Once the bills had been paid up he had moved on to the grocery store to stock up on a few days worth of food. He had himself a live in servant who could cook for him, clean up after him, and take care of any of the urges that should happen to come up between now and the time he'd managed to get the Mercers out of the way and have his son back with him, where he belonged. Macks was doing the thinking and the planning, and Jones was doing all of the work.

Jones wondered just what it was that Macks had planned for the teenage son he was so fixated with. He seemed to despise the boy, but wouldn't let go of the idea of having him under his control. He wondered if it was really worth all of the trouble they were going through right now. He was sure that if Macks hadn't been in control he would have haven handling things differently. Macks' voice echoed in his head, interrupting his thoughts. He wanted to get some food in him, have a little more fun with Jordan, and then put the poor thing though ell by having him make phone calls. The calls would be traced back to his house, eventually. Traced back to him and ultimately he would be the one taking the fall for everything because Adam Macks was dead, and Jones damn sure didn't plan on taking the heat for anything Macks did. Jones knew that Macks would have no problem leaving him behind to suffer the consequences while he moved on, never once being connected with the crimes he was planning to commit. Jones didn't trust Macks one bit.

Macks came shinning through in the reflection staring back at him. "You stupid son of a bitch, you and me are one in the same. How in the hell do you think I could leave you behind? I might have to get rid of your sorry ass, but I could never leave you behind." He laughed loud and it sounded cruel. "Just don't fuck up or piss me off and you will be just fine."

That's what Jones was afraid of. He was afraid of being stripped clean of existence. He had been born such a short time ago, and damn it, he liked the life he could lead, if it weren't for Macks' damn schemes that seemed to keep getting in the way. Even though Macks retreated and let Jones have the control back, the man shivered at the sound of Macks' voice in his head. It gave him chills. He wished he had better control, wished that he could actually contain the sick fucker, but he couldn't. Maybe with more time that could happen, but he knew Macks would never give him that much time. He was beginning to feel as if he were trapped inside the body of a mad man. Sure Jones was no saint, but he did like being a normal person, well, as normal as a nonexistent person could be. Still there was shit to do and Macks was growing impatient with him. Jones gave into Macks and finished dressing quickly before walking out of the restroom and through the house.

He found Jordan in the kitchen obediently dishing food out onto a plate. The man was doing everything he was told, the way he was told, and that was just the way Macks liked it. Jones felt a little sorry for him. If Jordan only he knew what Macks had planned for him he might not be so willing to give in without any kind of fight. Both men sat at the table to eat. Jones waited until Jordan had managed to eat at least half of his meal before he shared with him what Macks wanted him to do. He told Jordan the phone number he was to call, and what exactly he was to say. He wasn't so sure Jordan could remember it all, so he wrote it all down on him on the side of a brown paper bag. "You do this right, Brad, and you just might find yourself saved from that hellish place called prison." He smiled at the man, lying to him under Macks' influence.

After the meal Jones led Jordan back to the bedroom, and from there Macks took over, though Jones had to admit he did find some pleasure in the way Macks liked to pass the time. It wasn't so bad until Macks decided to unleash some o the pent up anger he was harboring against the Mercers. He took it out on the poor shit, leaving fresh bruises.

When the time came to leave, he still felt anxious. He cleaned up and dressed in some of his newer, finer clothes and reminded Jordan of his instructions before he left the house to drive towards the warehouse where Jeremiah's office was housed. He parked in front of the building and sat in the car for a few minutes to smoke a cigarette before making his way inside.

There had only been a few men in the office the first time he'd been there, but now it seemed crowded. That was just perfect; he seemed to blend in better this way. To his amusement Jeremiah's wife called him right over to her desk and announced that her husband had been waiting for his return. She stood and went though the office door to get Jeremiah. Jones felt his heart rate pick up, and his nerves were trying to show. He did his best to hide it though; he knew that if Macks caught on that he was nervous the man would never stop badgering him for him. While he waited he felt Macks wanting to surface, to be the one in control when he finally came face to face with one of the Mercers. He happily shrank back and watched as Macks took charge.

Macks smiled when the door opened and Mrs. Mercer returned to her desk, followed by Jeremiah Mercer. She introduced them quickly while Jeremiah held his hand out in a welcoming gesture.

"Mr. Jones, it's a pleasure to meet you." Jeremiah spoke cheerfully, a big smile lit up his face. "I'm Jeremiah Mercer, and I would like to welcome you to this company." He guided Macks through the crowd of men in the room. "Come on; let's go talk someplace a little more private. I guess I'm jumping the gun a little here. I am very interested in hiring you, but we do need to discuss salary, and benefits. Of course there is paperwork to fill out, and you know once you hear the job description you may not even want to work for me." He spoke quickly as he guided him through another door, into a hallway.

Macks followed Mercer, keeping his voice at the same kind of tone and level that he'd heard Jones use. He smiled and forced himself to sound cheerful, and excited about the new job he was about to take, though it was hard when every step he took echoed around his brain like nails driving through him. Every step he took he came closer to relinquishing control to Jones, who was inside screaming at him that he was going to fuck it all up if he didn't let him handle things.

He did not expect it when Jeremiah Mercer stopped at one door and opened it up. He looked in past Mercer to find two other men, one black and one white, conducting interviews. "Sorry to interrupt here. Angel, Jack, can I see you both out here for a moment?"

Angel and Jack Mercer stood from the cheep folding tables that had been substituted for desks and walked out of the room. Macks hid his smile as Jeremiah introduced them. He was lucky, three Mercers at once. Hell this was just fucking perfect. He allowed Jones' voice to speak, and he was as pleasant as he had ever heard himself be as he shook hands with both men. When he took a hold of Jack's hand he couldn't help but grip it a little more firmly than he needed to.

Hell, yeah. He remembered little Jack. Only little Jack wasn't so little now, standing inches above him, forcing him to look up to him when he spoke. He had liked Jack. At the time Jack was his only connection to his son. Not that he'd made that connection known, but as long as he had his claws in Jack he had a chance to get closer to his own kid. It hadn't worked out the way he'd planned though. The fucking Mercers always seemed to find a way to screw things up for him. They may not have known it at the time, but they had ruined that first attempt to get close enough to grab his boy and make a run for it. The only real satisfaction he'd gotten out of any of it was knowing that he'd managed to leave his mark on Jack, and he knew if he could get that close to Jack, that if he played his cards right he would be able to get close enough to Craig one day.

Angel and Jack Mercer both spoke to him nicely, showing him some respect, and that only made his chest swell slightly. That's the way he deserved t be treated, with respect. Though Jack seemed awfully quiet and gave him an odd look after he had spoke, thanking the Mercers for the opportunity to work for them. Hell, did he say something wrong? Did Jack recognize his voice, something about his face? He wasn't sure, he only knew that he had to be very careful around him, and not slip up. He was tempted to let Jones back in the lead. Jones seemed to be able to take on a whole new personality.

"You two get back in there; I'm going to show Mr. Jones around before I take him to fill out his papers." Jeremiah smiled at his brothers once the introductions had been completed.

Angel nodded at Jones. "It was very nice to meet you; I think we'll work well together." He smiled and stepped back through the door.

All Macks could manage as a response was a meager nod of his head.

Jack looked at him, still looking cautious. "Mr. Jones." He muttered the words before following Angel's lead and disappearing behind the door.

Jerry gave Jones an easy tap on the shoulder and headed for the door at the end of the hall. "Don't mind him; he's the quiet one of the family." He grinned. "Come on, I'll show you where I'm planning on setting up our temporary warehouse. I know it ain't much right now, but with some work and a little time it's gonna be great!"

Macks followed Jeremiah, thankful to get away from Jack Mercer. He was almost certain that Jack had recognized him, but unsure because the kid hadn't said anything. He shrugged off his doubts and allowed Jeremiah to take him on the entire tour of the building, and listened to his plans for the place. He wasn't really interested and it was hard as hell trying to act as if he knew what the hell the man was talking about half of the time, but he managed. He kept his eyes out for good places to set flammable materials, and possible entry points to the building. There were windows busted out, and a back stair way on the top floor that led down to an exit door on the street. Hell, this was just too fucking easy and Mercer was showing him the whole thing.

It seemed an eternity before they started heading back. As they came back to the hall that led to the office in front he found himself standing face to face with Bobby Mercer, and the small form next to him, tucked under his arm was his fucking bitch of a son.


	43. Chapter 43

Thanks to all for the reviews! Keep them coming :) And thanks to everyone for reading!

Still don't own, make no money.

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**Chapter 43: Crashing**

Jack glanced back just before the door closed as Jerry walked away with the guy Jones. He was going to show him the whole building, and that thought gave Jack a cold chill. He couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to wash his hand, better yet, take a long shower. He didn't like the looks of that Jones guy, or the way he walked, or talked or turbulence behind his eyes, as if there was something more there, dancing around just behind them. That look seemed so fucking familiar, but at the same time Jack was certain he'd never met him before.

He waited until the door had latched closed before returning to the young man he'd been interviewing. He had been reciting exactly what Jerry had dictated to him and Angel the day before, when he'd dragged them in to go over what they needed to ask and dig for with each applicant; though he had noticed that Angel wasn't sticking to the script as Jerry had outlined it. He was turning on his charm, working each potential employee as if he were some sort of mark, making promises that he knew he probably wouldn't be able to keep.

Jack would be thankful to get this day over with. He knew as soon as he got the chance he was going to be talking to Jerry about his choice with Jones. He didn't like him, he gave him the creeps, and he was sure he was going to be trouble.

Jack managed to plaster on a fake smile and looked at the man sitting across the folding table from him. "So, umm, Joe, I'm sorry about that interruption." He spoke the words with no more than a mumble. "I think we're pretty much finished here. I am going to need for you to stop out front and ask Sofi for the papers so that you can go to the clinic for a drug test." He kept the application but handed the man the basic papers he had filled out to make him an employee.

He stood with Joe and shook hands with him. He wanted nothing more than to follow Joe out the door so that he could go track down Bobby, but he managed to make himself sit down, praying Camille and Sofi didn't send anyone else back. He walked Joe as far as the door, and closed it after him when he walked out.

Angel should have been close to finishing up, so Jack leaned back against the wall, letting his shoulders slump as his mind focused a little harder on Jones. He couldn't get the man out of his head, the way he had held onto his hand when they'd been introduced, and the sound of his voice, it reminded him of something that seemed so close to edge of his awareness that it was frightening. He stared at the floor for a long moment, allowing a deep frown to embed deeply in his features. His eyes rose to look at Angel, though he kept his head low.

Angel hadn't had the same reaction; he seemed to like the man. Jack had never been very good at being around people he didn't know well. He tended to stay quiet and observe for a while until he could feel comfortable being around them. Maybe his instincts were off right now because of everything that had happened lately. Maybe he was looking for something to be wrong with everyone he met right then.

Well, maybe not everyone, he'd been fine with the strangers he'd been interviewing. Of course he was sticking to the strict instructions Jerry had laid out for him with the potential employees, where his encounter with Jones had been unscripted and totally unexpected. Still, he'd had a few questionable looking men sitting opposite of him at that table in the past couple of hours. Men in need of new clothes because what they were wearing were old and worn. There had been a few in dire need of a bath, and some just didn't know how to shave. They had all been without jobs and eager to work though. He hadn't had a problem dealing with any of them. Jones was well dressed, clean shaven and just as eager to work it seemed, so why did he feel so wrong?

He listened while Angel laughed at one of his own jokes, and then finally finished up with his interview. Angel looked at him, and seemed to finally notice his brother didn't look happy at all. He gave Jack a quick nod as if to let him know he had finally caught on that there was a problem.

Jack moved away from the door and back to the table that had been designated as his, standing over it and shuffling through the papers while Angel chatted casually with the man he'd been interviewing, talking about basket ball, and some of the restaurants in the area. It seemed forever before Angel stood and walked the man to the door.

Jack waited until he heard the distinct sound of the door latch catching before turning to face Angel.

"What the hell is your problem?" Angel looked baffled.

Jack's apprehension about his own instincts struck hard at that moment. "I don't know, I just…" He stopped himself and looked at Angel for a long moment. "I didn't like that Jones guy." He finally managed to say the words.

Angel took a look of confusion. "You didn't like Jones." He repeated. 'Why not, what was wrong with him?"

"I don't know I just didn't like the way he looked or the way he sounded when he talked." Jack was struggling to get past his own second thoughts on the matter. "There was something about him that just didn't feel right Angel. Like…" His voice caught in his throat. "Damn." His mind was playing back the phone call he'd answered when Angel had taken Bobby to the hospital the morning Craig had freaked out. "He sounds like Macks." He barely got the words out as his own brain made the connection. The voice on the other end of the phone echoed through his brain like thunder. "He sounds like that shit head." He felt his teeth grind together and held in the rage that was biting at his gut. "Damn." He muttered.

"Macks?" Angel shook his head. "Jackie Poo, I hate to tell you this, but Macks is dead." Angel kept his voice level, and though he was obviously trying to reason Jack's worries away, his own eyes narrowed and thin lines formed around the corners of his mouth. "Where the hell is Bobby?" He asked.

"Probably with Craig, I'm sure, in Jerry's office." Jack shrugged his shoulders, sensing that Angel was going to allow him to be concerned, and that they were about to do something about it.

"Well, don't just stand there Cracker Jack, you go find him, and I'll go look for Jerry." Angel reached out and pulled the door open, waiting for Jack to take the lead.

Jack stepped out the door, planning to turn to his right to head down the hall towards the front of the office while Angel turned to walk towards the back end of the hall, towards the warehouse. Both of them stopped just outside the door, sensing the presence of people at the back of the hall, the direction Angel had been ready to take. Both men looked, surprised to find Jerry with Jones, apparently exiting the warehouse. In front of them was Bobby's back, with Craig standing next to him.

Jack felt his heart drop to his knees. He barely noticed when Angel stepped toward the foursome quickly, but once his brain caught up to the rest of him he followed his brother's lead. He kept his eyes focused on Jones as his long legs closed the gap between them. He studied the man's face, trying to find any feature about him that was remotely Adam Macks. He was sure he saw something there, but just for a moment. It was as if it pulled back inside of the stranger and hid. Jack had no way to be certain, in fact, the harder he looked the more doubt rose in him. There was no way this could be Adam Macks. As Angel had pointed out Macks was dead. Despite his own uncertainty he decided it was best to be safe rather than regret not following his own gut at a later time.

He noticed that Angel slowed up and stopped a few feet behind Bobby, a stiff smile that resembled more of a snarl formed on his lips. Jack allowed his legs to take the extra steps, coming to a stop directly behind Craig. He was thankful that the timing had worked out so well. It was obvious that Bobby and Craig had just run into Jerry and Jones there, at the warehouse door, there had yet to be any words spoken.

Jack looked at Craig, and could tell the kid's features were stiff. He didn't know if it was because of the stranger in front of him, or if it was residual side effects from his morning of answering questions. It could have been a combination of both. Jack didn't care what it was, the last thing that kid needed was to hear Jones' voice. If it brought back the old fears in him he could only imagine what it would do to Craig if he heard the sound of it, whether it was Macks or not.

Jack reached out and took a hold of Craig's arm, giving him a slight tug and pulling him as gently as he could from Bobby's protective arm. He wondered if Bobby had been walking with his arm around the kid out of habit or if he'd placed it there sensing trouble. He was sure Bobby of all people would feel how wrong Jones seemed. He had to.

Bobby had the best perception of people out of any of the Mercers, except maybe for Angel. They could look at a person and tell you what the hell they had to eat for breakfast that morning. Angel had used that talent for years to run his cons and swindle money while Bobby had used it to get what the fuck he wanted in other ways. Of course Angel hadn't picked up on anything being off about Jones; he hadn't had any doubts about Jones until Jack spoke up about his own. Jerry had never been able to read people the way Bobby or Angel could, and Jack was never sure about the impressions he got, it seemed he'd been wrong so many times that he couldnt trust his own feelings.

Again, for just a fraction of a second he questioned his own worry. He pulled Craig back towards him, and started walking him back up the hall. He glanced down at the boy and could see a cringe on his face, as if he'd been bracing himself to take a punch. Jack mimicked Bobby's new habit and pulled his arm around the kid's shoulders, drawing him close to him as they walked. He allowed his own curiosity take hold and turned back just enough to steal a quick glance back the hallway. Bobby was looking back towards him, their eyes locking for a moment. Bobby wore a confused look about him. He did not try to stop Jack though, he was allowing him to walk Craig towards what felt like safety. As Bobby turned back face Jones it looked as if Jerry was carrying on as if nothing had happened, introducing Bobby to the man.

* * *

Green looked up through his windshield at the red light in front of him keeping the traffic at a dead stop. It felt as if he'd been sitting there forever. He picked up his cell phone and hit redial. He'd been trying to reach Jerry's cell phone for the past twenty minutes. He'd tried Angel's once, but he was focusing on Jerry's. It was much easier to hit redial while he was driving than it was to try to scroll through his menu to find the contact list. He sighed when the call fell directly into Jeremiah's voice mail. He flipped the phone closed and gave it a half hazard toss onto the empty passenger's seat next to him. He'd just spend more than an hour talking to the reporter, Timothy Dearth. The man refused to give up a name for his source, but whoever it was, the man knew facts about the Jordan case that no one else should be able to know. He would have to foce Dearth to give him a name, but he had to be careful about how he went about it. His head was still pounding despite the fact that he'd taken several aspirin. The tension behind his eyes had increased slowly, all day with each new phone call he received.

The light changed and Green pulled on through, taking his right hand turn. While he'd been with Dearth he'd received another call, from one of the FBI agents that had been working the case in Ohio. He was in Detroit, and he said that it was imperative that he speak with him, in person, but not at the field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He had designated a place on the far side of town, where they wouldn't be interrupted. Green was not looking forward to this. Whatever it concerned it couldn't be good. They gave the good news over the phone and then send the paperwork over the fax to back it up. The bad news they wanted to meet with you about. At that moment Green couldn't even remember the name of the agent that had contacted him. His headache was making it difficult for him to even think straight. If he had any sense he would just call it a day and make arrangement for this meeting for the next day, but he'd been told that he needed to be there within the hour, and that it was urgent. He wasn't about to let the Mercers down, not again. He felt a need to prove to them, more specifically to Bobby, that there were good cops out there, and damn, Bobby Mercer was one hard headed bastard. No matter what he did, as far as Bobby was concerned it was wrong. He'd come through for the Mercers, or at least he felt he had. Jeremiah and Angel both seemed to know he'd done all he could to help them with all this shit.

The big question for Green was why it felt so important for him to prove himself to Bobby Mercer. Maybe because he'd always respected Bobby? He had never approved of Bobby's way of doing things, and the man had at one time seemed to think he was beyond the law, or he just didn't give a fuck about the law as long as he thought what he was doing was right. To be honest, that hadn't changed one bit.

Maybe Green was starting to see Bobby's point of view now. After the years he'd spent on the force, watching good cops turn bad and innocent people get fucked up because of the corruption, maybe he was starting to see the logic in Bobby's way of thinking. If the bad cops could break the rules for the wrong reasons, why couldn't a good cop, with the right intentions bend a few rules for the right reasons? Damn, was he feeling guilty for the choices he'd made lately? No, that wasn't it; he was simply dealing with the changes.

Green pulled his car into the parking lot of the address he'd been given and parked in the middle of the empty expanse; the lot was empty, it felt wrong. Every nerve in his body became instantly electrified. He made no move to exit his car as his eyes took in the boarded up windows and door. The abandoned building held a half rusted sign with the same name the FBI agent had given him, but the man hadn't mentioned this meeting was to take place in an abandoned building. Green reached for his phone and started going through the menu to find the list of recent calls. He hadn't paid any attention to the number when he'd answered the call. Now he felt like a fucking fool. The caller ID only read 'restricted' where the phone number should have been displayed, "Fuck." He muttered to himself. He looked at the building for a moment longer. Hell no. He was not going into that building, this smelled rotten and he wasn't about to get himself set up. He pushed the gearshift on the steering column up into drive and hit the gas, turning his car sharply to donut around to face the entrance back onto the street.

A loud blast rang out from somewhere outside the car, but close, and it seemed the driver's side window exploded next to him in the same instant. The sharp pain that penetrated his left shoulder blade seemed to burn like fire and finger its way through the inside of his body. The blood splatter that erupted from the right side of his chest covered the steering wheel, the windshield, and the console on the dashboard. Green felt his body jolt forward in the same instant that he was struck. He'd been shot. Shit, he'd been shot. What the hell?

His foot hit the gas pedal and the car shot straight forward onto the street. His arms were going numb quickly, but he managed to twist the wheel and steer into the traffic. He swerved around several cars who responded by sounding their horns before he felt his tires running the curb on the right side of the street. He felt his wheels hit snow, mud and slush, and then concrete. The side of a brick building seemed to be hurtling towards him at the speed of light as his mind turned numb and started to tingle. The edges of his vision clouded over and quickly turned grey. He felt the impact, heard the crunch of metal against brick and felt the airbag in front of him deploy. Then silence fell around him, and the air turned cold instantly. He felt the warm blood spilling from his wound as his limbs lost all motor control and fell loosely, turning numb. He was sure he heard the police radio sound out just before the blackness took him.

* * *

Jordan pulled the rag away from the receiver and hung up the phone, his hand shaking. What the hell had he just done? Jones hadn't given him all of the details about what was going on. Only that he needed to make the phone call, and the words to recite. He'd even written them down on the bag. At the bottom of the notes he'd added to cover the receiver with something to help disguise his voice. He had been surprised to hear Green's voice announcing his own name when he answered on the other end of the line. He hadn't been told who he was calling, he'd only been given a number. Jordan shuddered at the idea that he may have just gotten himself in too deep to ever get out of any of the trouble he was in. But he was more afraid of what Jones, or Macks or whoever the crazy son of a bitch was would do to him if he didn't follow his orders and instructions to the letter. He was in fear of his life. What the hell was he supposed to do?


	44. Chapter 44

I finally got this up! I hate missing a day :(

Thanks all for the reviews and thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, I love to hear from all of you! :)

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 44: Reactions**

Craig walked with Bobby, letting the whole restroom thing slide for now, he was sure Bobby had looked into the room and was teasing him. He couldn't have known what was on the other side of the door any other way so he had to be playing with him, and it filled him with a strange feeling as they progressed down the hall. He didn't mind it though, it felt good to have his brother treating him more like he did Jack, Angel and Jerry. It seemed to help him feel a little calmer. He was glad to finally feel his brother's arm fall on his shoulders and he let the weight of it sink in deep as they moved towards the door at the other end of the hall.

He didn't understand why Bobby felt a need to walk him through the building. He had seen it once, when Jerry had brought them all by to look. He didn't care about the business his brother was working so hard at turning up. He did care that Jerry was working for some kind of personal cause, sure, but he didn't care enough to be right there, at that moment. He still wanted to go home and not hang out at a warehouse with his brothers.

Bobby pointed to a door on their left and pulled Craig to a complete stop. "That's where Cracker Jack and Angel are making their hard earned money sitting on their asses and asking total strangers what kind of job experience they have. " He laughed quietly. "We'll stop in on our way back through and harass them a little, how about that?" He looked down at Craig. "Let's go see if we can find Jerry and this Jones guy that he's so fucking happy to be walking around his warehouse. You should have seen his eyes when Camille came in and announced that 'Mr. Jones' had returned. His eyes got all fucking big and I could have swore his pants started to bulge at the idea that 'Mr. Jones' was that eager to work for him. Don't know what the hell Jones wrote on his fucking application but Jerry acted like a love sick school girl, all googlie-eyed and giddy." Bobby laughed. "We can find them and make Jerry sweat over that one, you know, drop a few subtle lines that he understands but Jones is in the dark about."

The boy couldn't help but roll his eyes. "That really sounds like fun to you, doesn't it?" He asked quietly, though he had to admit it might be fun to listen to Bobby come up with a few one liners that caused Jerry a little embarrassment.

"There ain't nothin' better than pissing off my brothers," Bobby grinned and continued walking, pulling Craig along with him. They were close to the end of the hall when the door opened and Jerry came walking through, leading a man that Craig presumed to be the prospective employee that his brother had been so excited about. He lowered his head almost instantly, not very comfortable about being in that particular position. He didn't want to be introduced to anyone, not now. He was trying to be as discreet as possible, not wanting people to look at him, or see him, and now he was stuck right there, facing a total stranger and he knew Jerry would introduce them. He felt his muscles tighten and his gut twisted up on him.

Bobby seemed to feel the tension that over took Craig's entire body at that moment. He gave him a slight squeeze as they came to a stop. Craig managed to raise his head slightly, and then lifted his gaze to Jerry, praying the man would see in his eyes that he didn't want to be forced to say hello to the stranger.

He allowed his eyes to drift from Jerry to the man standing just to his left, a couple of steps behind his brother. His breath caught in his throat and he felt his heart speed up. The curve of the chin and the tilt of the nose grabbed his attention first. He felt his legs grow weak as his mind transposed a picture of Adam Macks over the face of the man in front of him. The air seemed to be sucked out of him and he felt his lungs struggle to take in fresh. His vision blurred slightly, and his voice of reason screamed at him to turn and run like hell before the man could reach out and touch him.

Common sense crept into the back of his thoughts, working through the utter terror that was quickly sweeping over him. Adam Macks was dead, and this man didn't look completely like him. Again his mind brought up an image of Adam Macks, his eyes, and the grey hair that never seemed to be clean. The stench that followed him around and the foul teeth that jutted out behind his mouth when he spoke. This man before him allowed a slight smile, and the teeth were straight and clean. His hair was wrong, his eyes were wrong. He didn't look as old, he looked young, and his face wasn't hanging down around his features as if he had too much of it to rest comfortably where it should. His clothes were nice, and clean, and the slightest hint of aftershave seemed to drift around him. He was the exact opposite of Adam Macks, and yet Craig couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing face to face with his real father, staring at him and feeling the foul soul hidden by the outward appearance.

Craig was about to pull back, and excuse himself quickly when the sound of the door behind them echoed off the walls of the hallway, and then movement directly behind him blocked his escape. He could feel his voice working up a panicked yell when a hand clasped onto his right arm, tugging at him. He looked down at the long, lanky fingers gripping at him and recognized them as belonging to Jack. He felt his body separating from Bobby's hold and willed his legs to move in the direction Jack was leading him. He let his gaze fall to the floor to watch each tile as his feet came down on them as he struggled to keep his legs moving fast enough to keep up with Jack's long stride. He felt Jack's arm move around him and pull him close to him as they walked. He didn't look back, didn't want to see what was about to happen there in the hall way.

He needed to tell Bobby, he knew that. He needed to turn around and scream at him that Adam Macks was standing right there, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't absolutely certain that the man, Jones, was indeed Adam Macks. It seemed the further away Jack was leading him the more he doubted himself. How could it be his father? His father was dead, they had pulled him out of the water and they were waiting for the tests to be run. He tried to convince himself that he'd been having a nightmare about Adam, and that made it too easy for him to see Adam in the face of a total stranger. He hadn't actually looked at anyone that he didn't know until that moment in the hall. If he had made eye contact with any of the strange men in the office before he was sure he would have been able to convince himself they were all Adam Macks somehow. He had avoided looking at any of them in an attempt to avoid being seen by them.

Still, he didn't like the man, Jones. Maybe it was the look in his eyes that had reminded him so much of Adam, or the way the corners of his mouth turned up in a sick smile, as if there was something else churning in the back of his mind. It was the same look Adam wore all of the time.

He barely noticed walking through the lobby, or Jack opening the door to Jerry's office for him. He barely felt Jack lifting him to sit on the desk, and it took a long moment for him to realize Jack was standing directly in front of him, his hand planted on the hard wood on either side of him, speaking quietly, telling him it was okay, that he could calm down now.

Craig seemed to feel a slight snap in his brain, and the world around him came flooding in. He looked at Jack. "I'm sorry." He barely got the words out.

"Don't be." Jack shook his head. "Are you okay?" He spoke slowly.

Craig nodded his head. "I want to go home." He looked Jack in the eye. "God Jack, I just want to go home." He felt his voice choking up on him. "Please, can't we leave?"

Jack nodded his head. "Yeah, if Bobby doesn't want to go, I'll take you home myself. Screw this shit." He sounded pissed.

Craig felt relief almost instantly. "Who is he? He looks like…" He couldn't finish his words.

"I know." Jack stood straight up and stepped close enough to put his arms around Craig, almost hesitating in the action until Craig leaned into him and rested his forehead on his chest. "I know exactly what you mean."

Craig thought about Jack's reaction. He didn't seem surprised by Craig's words and it seemed strange to the boy. "How do you know what I mean?" He questioned, not really caring how his brother knew, only thankful that he understood.

"You drew pictures of him so I know who this Jones guy looks like. But it's okay. It's not him, it can't be him." Jack's voice came out quiet. "You don't have to be around Jones though, there's no reason for you to be. I'll keep him away from you." The emotion in his voice was unreadable, but Craig thought he could feel anger vibrating though it.

Craig felt guilt seep in to mix with the fears that had welled up in his chest. He had convinced himself that even though Jack had a better understanding of how he was feeling than the rest of his brothers, that he had no way of knowing exactly how he felt. Maybe he had been wrong, maybe Jack understood his feeling better than he did. He had pulled him out of the danger zone in that hall way and moved him away from some potentially poison, he could feel it. Jack hadn't hesitated, he hadn't doubted what needed to be done, and he'd just pulled him back and taken him someplace where he could feel safe. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't know exactly what had been working up inside of him.

Craig pulled back from Jack and looked up into his face. "I felt him Jack." He muttered. "I felt him, inside of that guy. Am I crazy?"

Jack stared at him, and a look came over his face that Craig couldn't quite identify. "No." Jack's voice felt strong and tense. "You are not crazy." He shook his head. "No matter what anyone else tells you, when you have a feeling that something is wrong, you trust it." He pulled his arms back enough to allow his hands to rest on Craig's shoulders and his eyebrows seemed to close in on each other as if he were concentrating hard. "Do you remember the day Bobby took you to the school to pick up your books?"

Craig felt a gasp catch in his throat. Hell yeah he remembered that day. It was the first time his school councilor had actually made any kind of contact him, though at the time it had been nothing more than an innocent touch on the arm. Craig felt his body cringe at the thought. He had broken that day. He had felt threatened by the man and hadn't been able to contain the emotions that had been stirred up by the encounter. It turned out his instincts had been right on, though at the time he'd felt like a complete ass. He had no way of knowing that Jordan had any connection to Adam Macks, and yet he'd felt as if he were in the same room with the man who had made his life hell for so many years.

Craig swallowed at the lump of that memory bulging in his throat and nodded his head in response to Jack. He knew there was no way he could make his voice work at that moment.

Jack forced a smile. "Well, you got some good instincts, don't you?" He asked. "That means that if you felt there was something 'off' with this Jones guy, then there's something 'off' with him." He gave a slight sniff and cleared his throat. "I didn't like the son of a bitch either, and both of us can't be wrong, now can we?" He seemed to be thinking about more than the words he was speaking. "And if we are wrong, who gives a fuck? If we don't like him, we don't have to pretend we do, now do we?"

Craig hadn't expected this kind of talk from Jack. He'd expected his brother to tell him not to worry about it, that his paranoia was normal after going through the shit he'd gone through, no matter how unreasonable it might seem at the time. Instead, Jack was standing there, giving him a hard stare as if he were starting to get pissed off about something, and telling him to allow himself to feel wary of people if he wanted to. He managed to swallow at the lump again, and forced the sound of his voice to escape him as he spoke quietly. "I don't think I'm going to like anyone for a while, Jack. I can't do that, can I?"

"Why the hell can't you?" Jack's voice sounded just as hard as before. "You listen to me, you aren't stupid. You got the smarts to know if someone is really okay, or if they're a fucking creep." He lifted his right hand from Craig's left shoulder and used his finger to lightly tap the side of the teen's head. "You need to trust what you feel and don't be afraid of it." He pulled both hands back and stood straight. "Where's your coat, I'm gonna take you home. You don't need to be here, there's no reason for you being here except Bobby wanted us all together for some reason. You know him; he likes these close family functions." He let the sarcasm spill out in his words.

Craig shrugged his shoulder. He tried to remember what Bobby had done with the leather coat that had cloaked him from the worst of his fears during the talk with Porter. "I don't know." He muttered.

The door of the office opened just as Craig pulled his self off of the desk to stand. Bobby walked in with Angel close behind him. "What the fuck was that?" He let out a small chuckle as he spoke, but looked as if he were seriously lost on why Jack had pulled Craig away from him in the hall.

Jack turned to look at Bobby at the same moment Craig's attention was drawn to him. "He needs to go home Bobby." Jack spoke as he pointed to Craig. "Where is his coat?" He kept his eyes glued to the man, his eyebrows hitching up a quarter of an inch in expectation, almost as if he was daring Bobby to argue about his decision.

Bobby sighed heavily. "Jack, I want to know what the hell is going on." He kept the laughing out of his words this time, but his words were calm. "We'll go home, but you gotta talk to me little brother, I can't read your fucking mind." He kept his eyes fixed in Jack's direction for a long moment, and then let them flick to Craig. "Just like I can't read your fucking mind either, so both of you are gonna tell me what the fuck that was all about." He shifted back to concentrate on Jack.

"Fine, we'll talk at home. He's getting the hell out of here. This is the last place he needs to be. He's got too much going on in his head, and he needs a chance to come down off that bad trip he had to take first thing this morning in that office with that Mr. Porter." Jack held both hands out to his side and let his back angle slightly, as if he were trying to bring himself down to Bobby's eye level, a habit he seemed to have become accustomed to after growing into such a tall form.

Bobby let out a huff. "Fine, but we're talking."

"We gonna send the rest of these guys home? You think that's what's gonna happen Jackie?" He asked as he cocked his thumb in the direction of the door behind him. "What the hell are we gonna tell Jerry?"

Jack looked at Angel and scowled. "I don't give a fuck what we tell him. Jerry is going to be here until midnight no matter what we do, and he has Charlie and Evan to help him finish these interviews. You want to stay and help him, then stay and help him, but if he had to he can finish interviews up tomorrow, or do like a normal employer would do and take the application now, and call them back later for their fucking interview."

"Tomorrow is Saturday, and New Years Eve; I ain't gonna be in here tomorrow, fuck that." Angel let a grin slip, probably to let Jack know he wasn't trying to be an ass but just asking a question.

Jerry came through the door at that moment. "Okay, ya' all want to tell me what just happened out there?" He asked the questions calmly, focusing on Jack.

"Jack wants to take Craig home." Bobby turned to Jerry. "I think he's right. Craig really is uncomfortable around all these people. He just about lost it back there when we ran into you and your new boyfriend." He spoke the words quietly.

Jerry shot Bobby a glare, but didn't allow himself the pleasure of responding to Bobby's remark. He quickly turned back to Jack. "What was your problem? He asked quietly. "Just explain it to me Jack." He still kept his voice calm and quiet.

"Okay, Jerry, if you really want to know." Jack nodded his head slowly. "That guy looks like Adam Macks."

Jerry started to speak; his mouth opened, but didn't move. His expression changed from calm to baffled, and looked from one brother to another before bringing his eyes back into the direction of Jack. "What the fuck?" He cried out. "That's ridiculous."

Bobby apparently hadn't seen the connection either and his eyes fixed on Jack for a long moment before looking back over to Craig. "Fuck." He shook his head slowly. "He did kind of look like him, didn't he?" He kept his voice quiet.

"Yeah, he did. Jack seen it right off, and didn't want Craig running into him. We were on our way to keep him a safe distance from that guy, just in case. Obviously we were too late." Angel spoke calmly.

"You can't hire him Jerry." Jack spoke quickly. "Even if he ain't Macks, there's something not right about him."

Jerry looked over to Jack. "I already hired him. What the hell is wrong with you? Macks is dead, man, and I need this guy."

"Fuck, you just got all hot and bothered because this guy sucked up to you." Angel laughed. "You can find someone else to fill his position. It's just a position. All you gotta do is call him and tell him that there was a problem with his fucking drug test and you're sorry but you've filled the position."

Jerry gave Angel a glare. "I don't want to do that. I liked the guy. He knows the job. He's got experience, a lot of it. He ain't Macks, and we do need him."

"You liked the guy. That figures." Jack sighed. "Fine, but I don't want anything to do with him. You can put it on the record that I don't trust him, I don't like him, and I damn sure don't want Craig anywhere near him." He sounded just as pissed as he had before his brothers had walked into the room.

"Fine, you don't like him, don't go influencing Craig's impression of him by bad mouthing the man when he's not around to defend himself." Jerry's voice came out tight and loud.

"Fuck you Jerry, Craig already had his mind made up just by looking at that fucker." Jack spoke defensively; his voice matched Jerry's in volume.

Craig was lost in words flying around him. His brothers were arguing and he hated it. He'd heard them argue before, but there seemed to be something in their voices that made this one seem worse, and he had been pulled into it, he didn't like that. He didn't want to be a reason for them to argue, and he damn sure didn't want to be pulled back and forth between them, trying to pick sides.

Bobby stepped in between Jerry and Jack. "Okay, that's enough. We'll work this out. Right now, I think Craig needs to get out of here, just like Jackie said. Let's get him home, and when we've all calmed down then we'll fucking talk about this." He looked Jerry pointedly. "Now is not the time to be fighting."

"Hell, I ain't fighting, I'm just confused." Jerry looked at Bobby. "You gonna let Craig run every time it gets hard for him? Is he gonna learn to deal with shit like that Bobby?"

Bobby glanced back Jack and studied his face for a long moment before turning back to Jerry. "I'm taking Craig home, Jack is coming with me."

"What about the interviews?" Jerry cried out and looked past Bobby to Jack, expecting the answer to come from him.

"I'm sticking around, and we got Evan and Charlie out there too, we'll be fine." Angel spoke from the position he'd taken up next to the wall with one arm bracing him up.

Jerry sighed, turned and walked out of the office as if he were pissed. Bobby looked at Angel. "Thanks, we owe you. He's gonna be pissed for a while." He grinned.

Angel grinned back. "Jerry don't bother me none, I ain't afraid of my brothers." He shook his head. "Maybe I can talk some kind of logic into his hard head."

Bobby looked over at Craig. "Come on, the coats are hanging up out here." He pointed to the door.

Craig thankfully joined his brothers to walk through the door. Before they could get out of the office Jerry returned with the three coats in question. He held them out to each of them in turn. "You all be careful goin' home." He thrust his car keys in Bobby's direction after the man had put on his coat. "Don't wreck my fucking car man; I doubt the insurance will pay for another one so soon." He still looked pissed. "I'll pick it up later. I'll catch a ride with Angel and Sofi." He muttered.

Bobby grinned. "Fuck yeah; I get to drive the Volvo." He turned to Jack with a wide smile and laughed.

Craig looked at Jerry, wanting to tell his brother he was sorry, but Jerry stepped over to him and gave him a quick hug. "It's alright little brother, you go home and get your shit straight. I'll talk to ya' all later." He turned and walked back out the door.

Angel said his goodbyes and followed Jerry's lead.

Bobby pulled Craig close and pulled him out of the office. Craig didn't feel as nervous with a brother on either side of him as they made their way back through the lobby. He was thankful to be getting out there. He was already talking himself into believing he had over reacted, but he didn't feel nearly as stupid for it after Jack's words of wisdom.

* * *

Adam Macks felt his rage burning inside his gut as he got into his car and started the engine. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes that he'd left laying in the passenger's seat and pulled one out. He lit it and sucked on the end of it hard, wanting to feel the burn of the smoke as it hit his throat. He looked back up at the warehouse and let out a low growl. He hadn't expected his kid to be right there, and if he didn't know better he would have thought the kid seen him too, behind the Jones mirage he'd created. If he hadn't allowed Jones to come back to the front, to take control of his actions, he would have let his rage out right then. It wouldn't have been very smart, he knew that, not with all of the Mercers right there surrounding him, protecting him. He had been forced to allow his boy to be walked back up the hall, out of his reach and there had been nothing he could do about it.

Jeremiah Mercer had ignored the action by Jack. Angel Mercer had stared him down, as if he were looking for something in his face. Bobby Mercer seemed to be the only one surprised by the quick departure, but once Jack had Craig out of site the man had turned to him, his eyes narrowing on him as if he seen the same thing Jack had seen when he'd looked at him. Shit, he was sure they knew he was for a short moment, but the hurried introduction Jeremiah fell into seemed to stem his worries, at least for the moment. Bobby Mercer shook his hand, with a firm grip as he muttered a greeting. The man seemed less interested in meeting a new employee and more concerned with the quick retreat of his younger brothers. He had listened to Jeremiah's littel speel about the warehouse job Jones was going to be filling, and how he would be counting on the man, but the look on his face was one of concern. He looked Jones up and down once, and then turned to look back the empty hall as Jerry spoke.

"It was nice meeting you Mr. Jones." Bobby spoke quickly, cutting into Jerry's words. "I'm sorry, I gotta go check on something." He didn't smile at Jones, he simply flicked his eyes to Jeremiah who responded with a deep frown.

Angel had followed Bobby, saying a quick goodbye before turning away. Jones had turned his charm back on for Jeremiah, who had gone on with his little talk as they made their way back to the lobby. Minutes later Jones was saying goodbye and moving out the door.

Now that he was back in his car, drawing off that cigarette so hard the fire on the end swelled and popped, he could push Jones into the background and take over. He should have been driving away, he had shit he had to do. He needed to contact Higgins to confirm the deed had been done. He still had to stop by to see Winston, to make it known what he needed from him. He should have been getting his business taken care of, instead he was staring a the building, pushing Jones to the far reaches of his mind while he considered going back in to confront that boy, force him to see him and know who the hell he was dealing with. Common sense won out eventually and he put his car in gear to pull out of the parking area. Just as he was starting to drive away he spotted the kid, walking out the front door of the building with two of his brothers flanking either side of him, as if he were something special. Hell, he couldn't wait to get his hands on the kid again, he'd show him just how fucking special he was...


	45. Chapter 45

Let me know what you think :) Things are going to heat up soon...

Legal Stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 45: Reconnecting**

Jordan felt his body tense when he heard the back door of the house slamming closed. He hadn't heard anything from Macks all that day, and his mind had been running through all of the horrible things that he might be involved in now, just by harboring a wanted man in his home and making one fucking phone call for him. He had spent the afternoon sitting in front of the television, but he had no idea what he'd actually been watching. He picked up the remote and turned the set off before standing and walking through the house to meet up with Macks in the kitchen. The man hadn't even taken his coat off, and he was at the counter filling a glass with whiskey. He was nothing more than a crazy drunk as far as Jordan was concerned. He was pissed that Macks had set him up with that phone call to the cop.

Macks turned his head slightly in Jordan's direction, but he didn't acknowledge his presence in the room or look directly at him. He downed the whiskey in one quick gulp and poured another as words finally escaped him. "You did good Jordan." He nearly growled the words.

"What exactly did you do Jones?" Jordan had learned his lesson as to what name to refer to Macks by, but he was still pissed, and it through in his voice.

Macks laughed quietly. "What the fuck do you mean? I didn't do shit. I was down at a warehouse being hired by Jeremiah Mercer to work for his fucking construction company. I didn't do shit." He downed the second double shot of whiskey he'd poured. He drew in a deep breath. "I saw my boy." He still didn't look over at Jordan. He turned to face the window above the kitchen sink. "I saw him, and I was close enough to put my hands around his throat and choke the very life out of him." His words were quiet and his teeth were grinding as he spoke. "He's mine, he belongs to me. I put too much work into him, and made him something I can claim. I am going to get my boy, tonight, and you are going to help me my friend. Either I get him back, or he dies along with the rest of the Mercers."

"How can I help?" Jordan's voice trembled, his anger melding with the fear the sound of Macks' words brought on. "I can't leave the house, remember?" He could almost feel his own voice squeak as he spoke, but he didn't care. The idea of doing any more to help this crazy fool in front of him was more than he could take. "What happened to the cop, Green?" He pushed as he took a step closer to Macks, daring to close the distance between them ever so slightly.

Macks shrugged his shoulders in a half hazard attempt to show a response. It took a few seconds for him to actually speak. "He was in the way. He helps the Mercers way too much. You know, he isn't the fucking perfect cop he makes himself out to be. He's dirty, just like all the rest of them; he just chooses to have some kind of fucking cause instead of making a profit. You know what I'm talking about Brad?" He finally turned and looked at the man. "He was an obstacle that had to be removed." His voice seemed to growl as he spoke.

"You killed him?" Jordan barely got the words out. "Shit, you can't just kill a cop."

"I didn't do a fucking thing. You did. You made the call telling him where to go." Macks smiled but it looked more like a snarl crossing his face. "I didn't fire the gun. I was on the other side of town."

"You had him killed." Jordan whimpered and pulled a chair away from the table. He had to sit down before he got sick.

"Calm down, he's not dead. The last report I got he was in surgery, fighting for his life." Macks turned back to his whiskey bottle and tilted it as if he was about to pour another shot into the glass. He hesitated for a short moment, and then lifted the bottle to his lips to take a long swig of the liquid fire directly from the bottle. "Like I said, you're gonna help me with my boy, or you won't be as lucky as Green." He turned completely around to face Jordan. "You are going to make another phone call for me my friend, and don't worry, this one won't be nearly as hard to make." He grinned.

"Just who is it I would be calling, another poor son of a bitch that will end up in a hospital, or worse, right?" Jordan shook his head slowly. "You didn't plan on putting Green in a hospital, you planned on killing him." He felt remorse inside, just as he'd felt remorse for the two teenagers Macks had killed at that farm in Ohio.

He knew Macks had no problems with killing. He'd stood back and let him shoot and kill those too kids at the farm, and he'd helped Macks throw that body in the pond at the farm. He didn't know exactly who it was, but Macks said it was someone who hadn't followed his orders and had tried to screw him out of something that he felt was his. Jordan was sure it was the drugged up dope dealer who claimed to be a doctor, but had no medical degree. Macks had called him in to dope up the kid and bandage his head. He could remember Macks was pissed at him because he hadn't given him all the dope he wanted. He figured it was the drug dealer because Macks had acquired the black bag full of all sorts of shit, including the needles needed to keep the kid shot up.

Jordan had left to gas up the van just after that guy showed up to treat the kid, and he hadn't seen him actually leave. He hadn't expected a dead body, only the kid. He'd helped Macks stuff the boy into the van and close up the compartment, and then the body had been tossed in and covered with a blanket, right on top of where the kid was hidden. He'd been too terrified of Macks to question it. But now, if the cops were searching the pond he was sure they would find that dead body and there would be more questions and more charges brought against him, no matter how much he had been in fear of his life at the time. He would pay the price for what Macks was doing right now too. He could feel it.

Macks stepped over to the table, carrying his bottle with him while he dug in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. He sat down opposite of Jordan, leaning back in his chair as if he were taking in the scene in that kitchen at that very moment. "Don't worry about it Brad." His voice softened and he sighed, as if a whole different person had taken over him. "You aren't going to be involved any more than you have to. I need you to call one of the Mercers. I have it all written down for you. Now you can handle reading from a script, right?" He pulled a crinkled piece of paper out of his pocket and let it rest on the table in front of him. He looked down at it for a long moment before a smile worked its way across his face. He dropped his hand onto the paper, palm down, and slid it towards Jordan slowly, pulling his entire body forwards so that he could coast the paper transversely over the table until it came to a stop in between Jordan's hands.

Jordan looked down, but didn't reach for the scribbled lines. He felt a shudder inside and considered telling Macks no. He was actually considering it, and was about to open his mouth to say it when Macks grabbed hold of his right wrist and gave it a hard twist. He could feel the muscles pulling in the wrong direction, the pain shooting up his arm and he cried out as his stare broke from the paper and shot to the face of the man across the table.

"Don't even think of fucking me over on this Jordan. I'll make you wish you'd never been born." Macks stood as he brought his body over the top of the table, twisting on Jordan's wrist a little harder. "Don't piss me off."

Jordan couldn't speak. He was surprised that Macks seemed to know what he was thinking. "I would never…" He gasped out the words, fear over riding any anger he'd been feeling.

The threatening look that had washed over Macks seemed to disintegrate instantly and the smile returned as he released his grip on Jordan's smarting arm. "I hope not Brad, I kind of like having you around." He pulled back across the table to return to his chair. "Now, I need the phone."

It took Jordan a second to realize he was being given an order. He felt his glasses slide down his nose as he moved to stand, and he reached up to put them back into place as he turned to walk to the living room, where the phone had been left on the coffee table. His feet tangled on him and he nearly tripped himself. Something he was used to, for the most part, he'd never been very coordinated. He heard the snickering from Macks behind him, but continued walking, despite the rising heat of embarrassment in his cheeks. He rushed for the phone and returned quickly, handing the cordless devise to the man that was starting to feel more like a captor to him. He couldn't escape Macks, he didn't have the courage to argue against him, and he was trapped there, in his own house with the man.

Macks smiled and took the phone, punching out numbers without hesitating. "You go watch T.V. Jordan, this is a private conversation." He sounded calm.

Jordan turned and hurried out of the kitchen again, almost thankful to be able to escape the man's presence. He didn't want to know what Macks was cooking up in that sick brain of his, and the less he knew the better.

* * *

Macks watched Jordan nearly trip himself a second time as he stumbled out of the kitchen. He held the phone up to his ear and waited for his call to be anwered. It took several rings, but the other end of the finally responded with a real voice. "Hello."

"You owe me you son of a bitch." Macks spoke quietly.

"You're supposed to be dead," Was the response.

"You fucked me over. You talked to the cops, and to the Mercers." Macks growled. "You ruined everything. I almost did die and it's because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut, you owe me."

There was a long silence and then the sound of a sigh. "I've lost everything here, you stupid shit. What the hell makes you think I'm going to do anything for you? You are the reason my life is pure hell right now. I'll tell you what I'm going to do, I'm going to call the cop I talked to before, and let him know you're alive and well, and probably back in town."

Macks let out an unpleasant laugh. "You try that Jessup my friend. But your buddy, Green, ain't gonna be available for a while." He picked up his whiskey bottle and took a long chug. After years of sucking down the harsh liquid he seemed immune to the burn. "Maybe you should give your old buddies, the Mercers a call? Hell, I forgot, they wouldn't believea fucking word you say to them, would they? No, you got one chance here, work with me, and rectify yourself. You come through on this, and all your problems just might disappear. How the hell can they pin shit on you if there's no proof of any wrong doing? All the fucking illegal shit was done by me, not you. You only had your hands in on the legal dealings, remember? We never got to the part where we split the shit up. If they got no witnesses, then they got nothing against you. You ain't above killing, now are you?"

His question was met by a long silence on the line, allowing for the slight hum in the phone to travel through Macks' mind. "Come on Jessup, we make a good team. I'm willing to let the past stay in the past. Let's start over. We can both still get what we want out of this." He finally urged quietly.

* * *

Jerry shook hands with the young man in front him and seen him to the door of his office, thanking him for his time, and letting him know to return on Monday to fill out the rest of his paperwork and officially start work. He watched the man walk the floor of the lobby to the door and disappear from view. Finally the day was done. He looked over to Camille and shot her a smile. "Well? Ya' all ready to call it a day?" He shifted his gaze to Sofi.

Both women smiled at him, and Sofi was about to speak when Angel came out from the hall door carrying a stack of applications and paper work all stuffed into files. She turned at the sound of the hall door and her smile widened. "Baby, it's getting late." She spoke casually.

Angel didn't have chance to respond before Jeremiah winced at the sight of the papers in his brother's hands. "Shit. We got all that to go through before Monday?" He cried out.

Angel nodded his head. "And these are just the ones I did. Jack's are still on his table." He announced.

"I thought we'd be able to get to them on the weekend." Camille reached for the papers in Angel's hands.

Angel relinquished the files willingly. "I ain't working over the weekend. Me and Sofi, we got plans for tomorrow night, and I don't think I'm going to be up to no paperwork anything on Sunday." He grinned wide. "I plan on having one fucked up hangover."

Jerry sighed and shook his head. "Well, I guess I can stay for a couple of hours and work through some of these." He sounded disappointed.

"I gotta go get the girls babe, or I'd stay and help." Camille looked sincere. "I'm sorry." She turned and looked up at Angel. "You could stay and help him, you know. You need to take some responsibility for this project too, if you guys are going to be working together. You need to think beyond this weekend, and more towards what kind of life you want to give to Sofi." She pointed towards Sofi at the desk next to her.

Sofi looked up at Angel and shrugged her shoulders. "She could have a point." She spoke slowly. "I mean, we aren't going to live with your brothers forever, in your Mama's house, are we?"

Angel rolled his eyes and looked at Jerry. "Fuck, do they all get that damn responsible thing going as soon as you slide a rock on their finger?" He cried out.

Jerry laughed and nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm sorry to say they do, but you know, after you get used to it, it's kind of nice, having that sweet thing next to you every night when you go to bed, after a hard day at work. And when you have that first baby calling you Daddy, man, responsible is all you fucking think about."

Angel let out a frustrated huff. "I can stay, but, you and me ain't gonna have a way home." He pointed out.

"I can drop Sofi off, and you guys can take her car when you're finished." Camille spoke quickly as she stood and pulled her coat on.

"That sounds like a perfect idea." Sofi stood as well, reaching for her pink coat hanging on the back of her chair while she flashed Camille a look.

Jerry looked at his wife, and was sure he could see a glint in her eyes. "You two got something planned?" He asked, but he let his head nod, already sure of the answer.

Camille walked over to her husband and snuggled up against his chest. "Well, we had talked about stopping at a little place Sofi knows about and having just one drink before I go to pick up the girls. We're still getting to know each other, and we thought it might be fun." She admitted, attempting to give Jeremiah a look of pure innocence.

"So, ya' all are going out for a drink, leaving us here to go through this paperwork alone," Jerry tried to look irritated, but he couldn't pull it off, not while he was looking into Camille's big, beautiful eyes. He sighed and looked at Sofi. "You are a bad influence on my wife." He pointed to her as she zipped up her coat.

"It was my idea." Camille laughed as she gave Jerry a playful slap on the chest.

Angel eyed Sofi while she stepped over to him and leaned up to give him a quick kiss. "Have a good night, baby." She smiled up at him.

Angel didn't return the kiss or the smile. "So that's how you gonna do me? Just abandon me in my time of need?" He asked her.

"When your time of need rises, I'll be there." Sofispoke softly. "No need to worry about that." She gave him another quick peck on the lips before walking with Camille towards the door.

"Hold on, both of you." Angel called out quickly, sounding pissed.

Sofi and Camille both stopped and looked back, surprised by the forcefulness in the man's voice.

"You ain't walking out of here by yourselves." Angel shook his head and started walking towards them. "I don't care what time of the day or night it is, I don't want to catch either of you walking around outside that door alone, you both got that?"

Jerry grinned and joined his brother to walk their women out to Camille's car. Angel was right, there was no need for them to be putting themselves in a dangerous situation, and in that neighborhood, walking through an empty parking lot was not the wisest choice. He made a mental note to call Bobby once they got back inside so that he would know the change in their plans.

He was sure it was going to be a long night, but for a change he had one of his brothers there with him, and that felt good. It meant more to him to be able to reconnect with his brothers after being apart for so long. It was his dream, so to speak, to have his brothers around him, working together as a team. They had always worked well together, hell, they were brothers; but now, they could all work together towards better things, towards a future, instead of the illegal dealings they had used to sharpen their skills as teenagers.


	46. Chapter 46

Thanks all for reading, and to those of you who review a special thanks! :)

Lega stuff stiil counts.

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**Chapter 46: The Mercer Instinct**

Bobby drove Jerry's car towards the house. They'd been riding for five minutes now, and he'd been kicking questions around in his brain, trying to figure out exactly how to approach both of his little brothers about what the hell was going on.

Jack was sitting in the seat next to him, his jaw set tight, and his eyes focused on the street outside the window next to him. Craig was in the back, sitting directly behind Jack, and Bobby glanced back at him to find the same look on his face as Jack. His eyes drifting along the buildings as they passed as if he were looking at them and lost in them, but it was obvious that he wasn't seeing shit, he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Okay, someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on? I can't figure this out without a little help here." Bobby finally spoke as he made a left hand turn.

Jack turned slightly and looked at him, but his eyes flicked back to the view out his window.

Bobby let out a huff and reached up to adjust his mirror so that he could see Craig. "What about you? You got anything to say to me?" He asked.

"I don't like the guy." Craig muttered without diverting his gaze one bit.

"Okay, you don't like the guy. You don't gotta like the guy. He's working for Jerry, that's got nothing to do with you." Bobby shook his head. "I wasn't too impressed with him either, but it's not like I really had the chance to feel him out, I had to come looking for you two to find out what the fuck was going on."

"Did you take a good long look at him Bobby?" Jack asked quietly. "I mean a really good look." He finally looked over at his brother. "He looks just like Macks." He didn't try to keep his voice quiet.

The scowl hit Bobby instantly. "I heard that before, back in Jerry's office, when you fucking told me Craig was going home." He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He didn't want to hear the same shit he'd heard back at the warehouse, he wanted to know more details. "And you're right, there are some similarities, but Macks is dead." He stated the fact that Green had passed onto them. "They pulled his body from that pond, and he's dead. I mean are you fucking serious?"

He wasn't going to fully believe that Macks was out of the way for good until they had confirmation that the dead man they brought up out of that water was that sick fucker. But he couldn't let his own caution influence Jack or Craig. He wanted to know what the hell it was about Jones that had them both on edge like that. He did trust his brothers' instincts, especially in this particular instance. They had both been fucking touched by the ass hole, and he had to trust them.

"Of course I'm serious, and I seen it the second I looked at him. So did Craig." Jack directed his thumb in the direction of the back seat. "He looks like him."

Bobby nodded his head. "Look, I get that, okay?" He concentrated on the road. "And I know that today has been a hard day to get through." He glanced back at Craig again. "Look at me." He called out and was satisfied when Craig looked at the mirror, their eyes locking in the reflection. "I want you to be careful, and I want you to get the fuck away from people you don't trust, that's not the issue. I just want you to be able to know when it's real, or when it's something your mind is making up, that's all."

"It felt real enough at the time. I'm sorry." Craig muttered, looking defeated somehow.

"It was real." Jack spoke up with a defensive tone. "Don't tell him it wasn't real." His voice carried the same anger in it that Bobby had sensed in Jerry's office. "You need to trust his instincts Bobby. Now, even if Macks is dead, and this guy isn't him, there is something about him, something that is wrong, I felt it."

Bobby mentally kicked himself. "Did I say I didn't trust his instincts? I do, I trust yours too, but he has to learn how to deal with his instincts and not fall apart." He glanced back at Craig in the mirror again, to find the teen looking at him. "I do trust your instincts, and you don't have to be around the man, I just want to make sure this ain't some kind of left over shit from all that talking you had to do earlier, that's all."

Craig let his eyes wonder back to the window view. Bobby shook his head and came to a stop at a red light. He took the opportunity to turn to Jack. "You and me need to talk alone." He kept his voice quiet. He needed to be able to question Jack without Craig around. The kid didn't know why Jack's instincts matched his in this particular situation. He needed to find out why Jack had the shitty attitude towards Jones.

He knew Craig's emotions were raw, hell the kid hadn't been able to walk through that lobby without shrinking into himself; Bobby had noticed that right off. He did trust Craig's instincts; he just doubted the reason for his fears at that moment. He needed to make sure they were real, and not brought on by everything still being so fresh in his head. It hadn't been that long, it had all happened just a week before, how the hell was the kid supposed to be able to filter real from imaginary?

Jack on the other hand had the same reaction as Craig, perhaps a little more intense if he had to be honest about it, and Bobby needed to know why. What was it about Jones that had Jack so jacked off? It was more than Jones looking a little bit like Macks. Bobby could see the resemblance, but hell, he wasn't Macks, there were too many differences. That wasn't saying he didn't believe his brothers, he did, he believed there was something going on with this Jones guy that maybe needed checked out, to protect Jerry, but comparing him to Macks seemed out there, without something to validate a reason for it. He had no problem going off on the fucker, but he needed a reason.

Jack stared at him for a long moment before diverting his attention back to street. "Yeah, we need to talk." He muttered.

Bobby sighed and waited for the green light. He glanced back into the mirror. He watched Craig's muscles in his cheek tense up for a moment then relax again, only to tense up seconds later. He was thinking, rolling things around in his head. He drew in a deep breath, damn; he needed to know what the hell the kid was thinking. Did he doubt himself now because Jack seemed to be the only one that believed him? God, he hoped not. He didn't want the kid to doubt himself. He wanted him to follow his instincts.

He remembered the way Craig had reacted to Green's news when he was told they'd pulled a body out of the pond. He remembered the look on his face when he'd been begging Bobby to hold him, like a small child, insisting that Adam Macks would come back. He had understood Craig's fears, he had decided that he would assume Macks to be alive until it was positively proven otherwise, and the proof hadn't come yet, so why the hell was he questioning Jack and Craig's perception of Jones? They could be right. They could be dead on about this, and if he didn't react with them instead of against them he could be putting Craig's safety at risk, he could be putting all of them at risk. Shit, he had to find out one way or another; he had to get a hold of Green.

Green could check into this Jones character and find out all he could about him. Bobby looked at Jack. "You got your phone you, don't you?" He asked.

Jack looked at Bobby. "Of course," He spoke as if he thought it was a stupid question. "Don't tell me, you want to use it." He remarked.

"Yeah, I do. We need to call Green. If both of you think there's something up with this Jones, then he can check him out, right?" Bobby was grateful when the light finally changed and he could make his way down the street.

"Bobby, why don't you just break down and get yourself a fucking phone of your own?" Jack seemed to have relaxed almost instantly. He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and sighed. "You can't keep using everyone else's phone forever." He held the phone up.

"Sure I can." Bobby flashed Jack a grin.

"You know his number?" Jack opened up his phone.

Bobby rattled off the only number he knew for Green and allowed Jack to dial it. He drove in silence while Jack made the call. He glanced back in the rearview mirror again, and was surprised to find Craig looking towards the front of the car. Apparently so long as he felt something was being done to check out his fears he was willing to keep his mind focused. He looked anxious. "Hey, we'll find out for sure, okay?" He spoke to the boy.

Craig looked up to the mirror and nodded his head, muttering a quiet, "Okay."

Jack closed up the phone. "It went straight to his voice mail." He looked at Bobby. His face looked drawn in again and it bit at Bobby's gut. He couldn't leave it at this. It was important to Jack and Craig, and hell, it was important to him as well.

"Well, hell, let's go visit with him then, how about that?" Bobby checked his driver's side mirror and made sure the traffic was clear behind him. He waited until an oncoming car passed by before pulling a U-turn in the middle of the street.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack asked.

"You keep trying his phone, and we'll go to the police station and find his as if he doesn't answer." Bobby hit the gas and glanced at Jack.

Jack stared at Bobby for a moment, and allowed a small smile. "Thanks Bobby." He muttered as he opened his phone up and hit redial.

"Don't mention it fairy." Bobby grinned and looked back to the street in time to swerve and miss a car slowing down to make a turn.

"Don't get us killed before we get here." Jack laughed.

"Screw you, I'm the best driver in this fucking family and you know it." Bobby spoke out and looked back at Craig again. The kid was back to looking out the window. Well, fine, let him escape into his thoughts for a while. He knew his fears were taken seriously, that's all that counted.

Bobby was quiet as Jack three more times to make contact with Green. He finally shook his head and sighed. "Forget it Jack, we'll be at the station house any minute." He muttered, and as if to back him up the police station came into view. He parked out front and looked at Jack. "Do you two want to come in with me or wait here?" He asked.

Jack turned in his seat and looked at Craig for a long moment. The kid was staring out the window at the police station. "Do you think he needs to go in?" He turned back to Bobby.

Bobby shook his head. "No, I don't." He left the engine running. "I'll make it quick. If he's here I'll bring him out." He got out of the car, walked around the front of it, taking one last look at Jack before turning his back to him to head up the steps to the entrance.

Shit, Bobby Mercer walking into a police station with no fucking handcuffs on. This was just fucking wrong. He sidestepped a couple of uniforms coming his way and walked around them towards the front desk. There were cops walking up and down the hall, and a few of them were watching him close, as if he were going to pull a gun out or something. Hell, he didn't have a gun on him right then, thank God, he would have really been in a hell of a fix if he did. He hadn't even thought about it until that moment. He stopped at the counter and waited for a few seconds for the officer on the other side to look up from his computer screen. He counted to ten in his head, and the man, in his mid fifties, maybe, still hadn't looked up or acknowledged his presence.

"Excuse me; I need to speak with Lieutenant Green." Bobby spoke the words loud enough for the man to hear him.

"Just one moment please." The man didn't look up at him; he continued to punch more buttons on the keyboard.

Bobby felt his patience growing thin. The whole experience of having to stand in a police station under his own will was giving him the creeps, and then to have the guy totally ignore him when his need was valid, and important, just pissed him off. He counted to ten again, biting his tongue to keep from mouthing off.

It wasn't until that jerk reached for his mouse and moved it around. A grin crossed his face but he still didn't look up. Bobby had enough of being ignored on purpose. "Look, buddy, I really don't give a fuck if you look at your midget porn at the expense of the taxpayers, but could you hit pause on that thing long enough to pick up that phone right there and call Green? I need to speak with him, now." He pointed to the phone right next to the computer mouse the man was handling.

The officer slowly raised his eyes to meet Bobby's. If Bobby didn't know better he'd swear the man looked like he'd just been busted. Just as the man was about to respond, another officer stepped up next to him, apparently having heard Bobby's words.

The second officer managed a smile. "Who were you looking for?" He asked the question carefully.

"Lieutenant Green. Wilber Green." Bobby added, hoping the knowledge of Green's first name would help him out. Bobby took a quick look at the second man and recognized him as Johnson. He had been at the house the night Bobby had lost his car to that gang of fucking teenagers. "Could you just give him a call for me Officer Johnson?" He asked.

"You are?" Johnson asked.

"Bobby Mercer. He knows me." Bobby nodded his head, a bit surprised this guy didn't seem to know his face or recognize his name.

"Mr. Mercer, I'm sorry, but Green isn't available." Johnson spoke quietly. "I'm sorry; I should have recognized you right off." He seemed to have a memory recall at that moment. "You're friends with Green, right?"

"What do you mean he ain't available? You haven't even tried to call him." Bobby felt his frustration growing. "Look, this is important; can you at least give him a message to call me?"

The first man turned and walked away from the counter.

Johnson watched the other officer move out of hearing distance before looking back to Bobby. "Look, I shouldn't tell you this, but I know that he would want you to know. Green is in the hospital. We haven't heard anything about his condition, but it didn't look good when he went in." He spoke quietly.

Bobby's mind went blank on him. He was at a loss for words or thought. "What?" He knew it sounded stupid, but he had nothing else to follow it, at least not yet.

"Green was shot today." Johnson informed him. "It happened at about thirteen hundred hours." He sounded upset by the news himself.

"You close to Green? " Bobby asked the question before he even knew he was thinking it.

"Actually, yeah, I am. I wouldn't be a cop today if it hadn't been for him. He saved my ass from a lot of stupid shit." Johnson nodded his head. "I hang out at his house in my off hours."

"You know much about what's going on with his cases?" Bobby pushed.

Johnson looked cautious. "Sometimes," He kept his voice steady.

"You got any idea what's going on with the Macks, or Jordan case?" Bobby asked.

Johnson nodded his head. "I know enough." He drew in a deep breath. "But not enough to answer questions if you need something answered. I wish I did."

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "Did they get the guy who shot Green?" He asked quietly.

"No," Was the response and Bobby felt his gut twist on him.

"You got any ideas about who would have done that to him?" Bobby asked.

Johnson leaned towards Bobby. "Look, I can't say much. I can tell you this; Green had heard from a reporter that knew a little too much about the Jordan case and he had gone to meet with him. That's about all I know. If I had to follow a hunch, I'd follow the one that connected his shooting with the case he was working on."

Bobby felt chills run down his back. "Thank you. You know how to get a hold of me Officer Johnson?" He asked.

Johnson nodded his head again.

"Can you do me a favor, as soon as you know anything about Green, you let me know? I want to know." He felt his chest constrict. He wasn't sure where the hell it was coming from. Hell, yes he did. Green was a friend, and he may very well have given his life to help the Mercers when no one else seemed to give a fuck. That pissed him off, and it filled him with pride at the same time. He had one hell of a friend and he hadn't even realized it.

Johnson managed a smile. "I will do that."

Bobby turned and walked back down the hall towards the door. Shit, now he had to figure out what to do. He was almost to the door when he realized he hadn't asked Johnson about the name of the reporter Green had gone to meet with earlier that day. He turned to head back to the counter, but Johnson was gone. He let out a long breath and turned back to the door. He'd find out on his own. He'd play like Angel and show a little finesse, well, finesse in the Bobby Mercer kind of fashion…

* * *

Jeremiah looked across his desk at Angel, who had delved deeply into the work piled up between them. He smiled and nodded his head slowly as he realized he approved of the man his younger brother had become. "You need a break?" He spoke with no warning.

"A break," Angel muttered as his eyes lifted from the papers in front of him to meet Jeremiah's gaze. "I want to get the fuck out of here, how is taking a break going to accomplish that goal?" His voice held a little frustration, but nothing Jeremiah Mercer couldn't handle.

Jerry laughed at the look on his brother's face. "Well, I just realized, I forgot to call Bobby and let him know that we were going to be here late, so I need to find my phone." He slid his chair back from the desk and stood. "Come on, I'll buy you a beer." He grinned.

"A beer," Angel sat back in his chair, throwing Jeremiah a scornful look.

"Yeah, a beer, you want one?" Jeremiah walked towards the door leading out to the lobby, where his coat was hanging on the rack.

Angel sighed and stood, ready to follow Jerry. "What time is it anyway?" He asked.

"It's a little after six." Jerry answered. "I was gonna call Bobby when the girls left, but I forgot." He called back over his shoulder as he reached into his coat pockets one at a time, until he was able to pull his cell phone out. He frowned when he looked at his phone. "Damn, battery is dead." He shook his head. "What about yours?" He turned to Angel who had caught up with him.

Angel shrugged his shoulders and reached into his pants pocket. "I had mine turned off." He announced. "So my battery wouldn't die on me." He gave Jerry a critical stare as he powered up his phone.

"Oh, no, none of that now, ain't no reason to be making any kind of remarks about using common sense. I can bring up quite a few times up when you didn't use your brain, and they were a damn sight more serious than a telephone battery." Jerry spoke quickly.

Angel rolled his eyes as his phone sang out a little tune, and then beeped loudly. "I got a voicemail on here." He muttered and started hitting buttons on the phone. "Green," He looked at Jerry. "He probably tried to call your phone first." He commented as he held the phone to his ear to listen to the message, and after a few moments he nodded his head. "His message was to tell me that he has been leaving you messages." He smiled at Jeremiah.

"Shit. Did he say what it was about?" Jerry held his phone up and tried to power it up.

"No, he didn't, but he said to call him back as soon as you got his messages." Angel let his smile turn into a wide grin. "You really need to keep a better watch on your phone, important shit can come up you know."

"Just call Bobby, and give him the message, would you? I'll use your phone to call Green once you're done." Jerry shook his head and walked towards the hall door. "You want the beer?" He called back to Angel.

Angel followed Jeremiah as he hit the button on is phone he had programmed with the house number. "Hell yeah I want that beer. Where is it?"

"In the warehouse, the last thing I need is for Camille to find it here. She'd throw a fucking fit." Jerry laughed as he led Angel up the hallway. He was enjoying this, having Angel there with him. He had become used to working alone at night, and having some company was a nice change. That company being his brother just made it all that much better.

Jerry walked through the door leading into the warehouse and flipped the light switch to turn on the lights. He walked over to the box he'd stashed the six pack of beer in and opened it up.

"Are you that worried about Camille catching you drinking a beer?" Angel laughed as he watched Jerry pull two bottles from the box.

"No, I ain't that worried about her catching me drinking a beer. She would worry if she knew I had it here, but more importantly if Bobby had found it he would have drunk all of it." Jerry grinned wide as handed Angel a bottle. "Come on, man, let's get our asses back to work so we can get out of here." He allowed Angel to take the lead for the walk back to the office.

The sound of metal hitting concrete somewhere at the back of the warehouse stopped both men in the middle of their stride. Angel turned and looked at Jeremiah.

Jerry shrugged his shoulders, not really worried about the sound. "Rats." He spoke casually. "I need to get rid of them."

Angel looked skeptical and sighed. "You think we need to check it out?" He sounded concerned, as if instinct were telling him it was something more than rats.

Jeremiah laughed quietly, and shook his head as he turned back to face Angel. "Trust me, I've met those rats face to face, and you don't want to see them." He had run into a few rats in the warehouse, and he wasn't exaggerating, but he couldn't fight down the odd sensation working up in his stomach, as if a doubt was creeping in about the cause of the crashing sound they'd heard. The look on Angel's face didn't help him any.

"Damn, I wish Bobby was here." Angel seemed to be trying to force a grin. "You know him and rats." He leveled his gaze on Jeremiah, who knew it was supposed to be a joke, with Bobby's fear of rats, but for some reason he couldn't find the funny side of the whole situation, no matter what kind of rat might be roaming around in the scrap metal and rusty shelving.

Another crashing sound caused Jerry to flinch slightly and he turned back to look in the direction it had come from. "What the fuck, let's introduce you to some rats." He spoke quietly. There was still plenty of junk and trash that needed to be hauled off, and he'd meant to take care of that by now, but with so much going on he just hadn't had the time. He took that first step towards the back of the warehouse. "Where in the hell is Bobby when you need him?" He spoke the question in nothing more than a whisper as they moved slowly across the floor of the warehouse.


	47. Chapter 47

They are starting to talk to me pretty loud, that can be a good thing or a bad thing :) Let me know what you think and thanks to all for the reviews! I appreciate each and every one of them :)

Legal stuff, blah blah blah.

* * *

**Chapter 47: Closing In**

Jessup Winston stared out the window of his apartment. He hadn't turned any of the lights on, and the fading sunlight was sucking the life out of the interior. He had boxes packed and labeled to be shipped to his mother's, and he had been planning on following his possessions as soon as the investigation was over. Well, he would be following if he didn't end up in jail, that is.

His mother was too good to him. She was upset and disappointed, but her forgiving nature had always been a blessing to him. She forgave so easily. She didn't forget, but she forgave, and welcomed him home with open arms, ready to help him start a new life and put the crap of his old life behind him. He wanted to put the crap in the past. He wanted to forget about his dealings, and all the money he was about to lose. He damn sure wanted to forget about Adam Macks and the destruction that fucker had brought down on him. Only problem was Macks wouldn't go away. Jessup felt like a large strip of sticky fly paper with one big ass fly named Macks stuck to him and refusing to die. He wanted nothing more than to squash him, but had no means to at the moment.

Now he had a choice, face the law with the charges that were sure to be brought against him and deal with trying avoid Macks, who wasn't so forgiving and would probably try to kill him; or make the wrong choice with Macks and face the sound of disappointment in his mother's voice, again. He wasn't sure he could handle the latter of his choices. Hell, he didn't like any of his choices. He'd spent the last hour trying to come up with a third option, but one didn't seem to exist.

He had tried calling Green to create another option, but there had been no answer. He had called the police station to inquire about him, but had gotten no answers there. If Macks had been telling the truth about Green being shot it certainly was not being confirmed by the department. The other option open to him was to call the Mercers. He could call Jeremiah; he still had his cell phone number. What the hell was he going to say to him? "A dead man is out to kill you all?" He muttered the words under his breath. He let his forehead rest on the cool sheet of glass in front of him.

There was the other choice. He could do what Macks told him, and go with him to the warehouse with all they needed to blow the place sky high, or he could let the son of a bitch kill him. He didn't understand Macks' need to hit the Mercers so hard. He wanted them dead, he knew that, but why burn the building when he was planning on killing them? He let out a sigh, he knew why, hell, it would throw them off, divert their attention, and make them more vulnerable. It was all part of a game that Macks liked to play. That had to be it. Macks wasn't one to let things go; he couldn't just step back from a situation and leave it be when things were getting too fucking screwed around. This situation was just out of control, and more than likely Jessup Winston was going to breath his last breath that night, not matter what choice he made. If a move was made on the Mercers and it failed, they would come after him. No matter what he did with Macks, he was sure the man was going to kill him anyway; he was just using him for what he could before he put a bullet in his head.

Jessup Winston turned and looked at his cell phone, lying on the desk on the other side of the room. He'd been given an hour to decide what he was going to do. His time was almost up. Either he could make another stupid decision and further disappoint the most precious person in his life for the second time in a week, or he could find a way to do the right thing without getting himself killed.

He sighed and took long strides as he moved to the phone. He knew if he didn't do it now, and do it quickly that he would lose his nerve. He picked up the phone and stared at the buttons as doubt crept into his thoughts. He didn't realize he held his breath while he dialed the number. He cringed when the phone didn't even ring; it went straight to fucking voice mail. Shit, he didn't have time for this. "Jeremiah Mercer, this is Jessup Winston, listen, you guys got a problem, and it's not me. Come on, call me back you son of a bitch. You and your brothers owe me for helping you find Macks before, you gotta help me now or I'm fucked." He couldn't keep his desperation out of his voice. Desperation and aggravation were both welling up inside of him.

The man shoved the phone into his pants pocket and looked around the darkening apartment. He didn't have much time. Macks was due to be at his door in mere minutes. He didn't have the luxury of sitting down and figuring it all out, that's what the problem was. He liked to think things through, and he liked to be prepared. He sighed and walked over to the closet to find a coat. He still had time to get the fuck out of there before Macks showed up. Maybe he could actually track down the Mercers before Mack did. He pulled the leather around him and fastened the front before walking to the door and pulling it open.

His path was blocked by a stranger, standing in the door with both hands braced on either side of the frame, a sick smile on his face. "Hello Jessup." His head was tilted downward, but his eyes came up to look at Winston.

Winston hoped his shock wasn't evident on his face. The voice was that of Adam Macks, but the face…. He sucked in a deep breath and forced a hard stare. "I thought I heard a rat." He spoke harshly. A second longer staring into the eyes and he could see Macks under the facade. He had known other men to change their appearance, and most of what Macks had done with his was fairly simple, but it did have the right effect. He wouldn't have known the man with a simple glance, passing him on the street.

Macks shook his head and pushed his way past Winston, into the apartment. He stopped in the middle of the floor and let out a whistle as he scanned his surroundings. "Fine fixing's here Jessup, real fine." He stepped over to one of the boxed resting on a nearby chair, "You moving?"

"My life in Detroit has been ruined, what the fuck do you think?" Winston pushed the door closed and turned to face Macks.

"For shame, my friend, don't you trust me to get you out of this little mess you've dug yourself into?" Macks looked at Winston and smiled that evil looking smile.

"The mess I've dug myself into?" Winston laughed. "Hell, you got me into this, you and your private war against the Mercers." He challenged.

"You are the stupid idiot who talked to the police, and the Mercers, and that's how we got to where we are today." Macks let the smile fall, and his hoarse sounding voice rose. "You can at least admit to your part in this."

"I stood by my part; you changed shit without telling me and left my ass to fry for it." Winston countered. "If we are going to do this shit, then let's do it. But we are leaving. I damn sure don't want your stench lingering in my home." He motioned for the man to move towards the door.

Macks looked around the apartment one more time. "It's a good thing you're moving; I think this place might be just my style. I'll have to look into it, once you're out of the way, that is." His voice was low and sounded threatening. He finally turned and walked back towards the door.

Jessup opened the door and matched the hard glare Macks was throwing at him as he passed him to enter into the hall. Shit, this was not working out very well.

* * *

Craig stared out the window of the car, watching Bobby trot up the steps of the police station. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from the man. It seemed Jack was the only one who really understood why Jones bothered him. He was the only one who really seemed to get it. But he'd hoped somehow Bobby would get it too. Now, after putting so much distance and time between his encounter with the man, he wasn't so sure exactly what it was about him that had turned his fears up to such intensity. He only knew that he didn't like him, and he felt as if he'd been in the presence of pure evil. A shiver ran down his back as he thought about it now.

Jack twisted around in his seat and looked back at him. "Hey, are you doing okay back there? Are you warm enough?" He asked.

Craig realized he was hugging Bobby's coat around him "I'm fine." He looked at Jack. "He doesn't believe us." He returned his gaze to the steps of the police station.

"I think he does." Jack managed a slight smirk. "We're here, aren't we?" Craig could see his brother nod towards the building out of the corner of his eye.

Craig felt his body shiver, despite the fact that he was warm. "I wanted to go home." He didn't look back toward Jack. He barely got the words out and he was afraid if he looked directly at Jack at that moment that he would start bawling, and he didn't want to do that. He'd done enough of that. Jack didn't cry all of the time, and he'd been through the same kind of crap that he had. He had to try to be more like Jack.

"I know, but we need to find out about this guy. You want to find out about him, right?" Jack still sounded calm. "I know I sure as hell do."

Craig gave his shoulders a shrug, but didn't bother answering. He didn't want to find out about Jones, he didn't need to; he just wanted him as far away from him as possible.

There was a long moment of quiet before Jack spoke again. "Look, when Bobby said you need to learn how to handle this shit, he was right." His voice came across the seat steady and calm. "If you meet up with someone who gives you the fucking creeps, you can't lose it, not right then. You gotta deal with it, and get past it. Sometimes, you gotta face it head on before you can get rid of it Craig; or it will always stick with you, right in the back of your head, where you try to hide from it. That's what Bobby's doing right now; he's facing it head on."

Craig looked at Jack, surprised by his words. "Do you try to hide from it?" He asked.

Jack sighed and nodded his head. "Sometimes, but all that does is let it build up and then you do stupid shit that you normally wouldn't do. Promise me you will never do that to yourself Craig."

Craig kept his gaze on Jack. "Okay." He muttered quietly, not really understanding the man's words. He looked out the window and waited for Bobby. As he looked out the window, his mind was spinning around everything that had happened, and how his other brothers hadn't seemed to notice anything wrong with Jones. He doubted it himself now, but Jack seemed so sure. He didn't understand why he felt that confused now about something that had seemed so obvious before.

He sat up in his seat so that he could get a better look at Jack. "Back at the warehouse, it felt strong. But now, I'm not so sure, what if I'm wrong and Bobby goes and…" Jack held his hand up, stopping Craig from completing his question about not being so sure about Jones. What if Bobby was going to go barreling into something that would end up getting them all screwed somehow?

"You don't worry about it. If you're wrong, then I'm wrong. If we're both wrong, then what the hell, at least we've dealt with it, right?" Jack asked.

Craig wasn't so sure he understood Jack's words completely, but he nodded his head and looked towards the door of the police station, wishing Bobby would return soon. He looked back to Jack but the man was staring off into another direction, and he seemed to have slipped into some far off world. "Jack?" The boy spoke quietly.

Jack looked at him, but didn't seem to totally notice him right away, "Yeah?" He gave his head a slight shake and seemed to finally see the teenager.

"Why did you see it with Jones, and no one else did?" Craig couldn't stop himself. "Bobby seen the pictures of Adam too, but you were the only one who felt what I felt."

Jack opened his mouth, but then closed it and seemed to think about his words a moment. He finally drew in a deep breath. "I guess when you go through something like that, it don't matter who the hell did it; you can see that look in someone's eyes, even someone you don't know. You know the look I'm talking about, and that's what we both saw."

Craig understood what Jack was saying, but it still felt off. He felt as if there was something his brother was leaving out and it was bothering him. He'd felt it before, and he felt as if he was purposely being left out of something that was important. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. That voice in the back of his head reminded him that his brothers didn't include him in everything, and that they never would. He understood that, and knew there was nothing he could do to change it.

Most of what he was left out of wasn't his business. This felt as if it was his business, and he didn't like it. He didn't push it though, he sat back in the seat and let it go, for now. He just had a feeling that at some point something was going to happen and he was going to find out what it was that was being kept from him.

Jack turned and reached for the radio. "You want to listen to some music?" He turned on the power to start switching the stations around, but at that moment Bobby opened the driver's door and got into the car.

Jack looked at Bobby as he switched the radio off. "Where's Green?" He asked.

"Green's in the fucking hospital. He was shot today." Bobby shook his head. "We gotta check out something." He muttered.

Craig felt his stomach tighten up on him. Green was shot. "Is he dead?" He asked the question quickly, fear sweeping over him for some reason. Everything seemed wrong, not just with Jones, but now Green had been shot.

Bobby started the car and turned in his seat to look at the boy. "No, he ain't dead." He spoke the words calmly. "Don't worry, he's gonna be fine." He didn't smile though, and Craig could see worry creasing into his features. "You just sit back there and relax, we got someplace to go."

"Where are we going?" Jack asked.

"We have to find out what reporters have been covering the story on Jordan for the papers." Bobby spoke quickly. "Where's the closest place to buy a paper?" He put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street.

Jack shook his head, "There's a convenient store down the street." He suggested.

Bobby seemed to know what store Jack was talking about. "You go in and get a copy of the Detroit News and the Free Press." He told him. "You got money?"

"Yes, I've got money. Stop treating me like I'm a ten year old." Jack shot at the driver.

Bobby looked at jack and grinned. "Fuck, Jack, you're always gonna be my baby brother. Don't bitch about me offering you money; I don't do that for just anyone you know." He turned back to watch the street.

Craig felt his body tensing up. He could feel the tension coming off of Bobby despite the man's attempt to hide it, and he was sure there was more going on than what he was telling him. Again it irritated him that he was being kept in the dark about something. He worked up enough courage to slide to the center of the seat and lean up between the men in the front. "Why are we getting news papers?" He asked.

Bobby glanced down at him. "Get your ass back in that seat and put on your fucking seat belt." He spoke louder than he needed to as he looked back up to watch where he was driving.

"Why are we getting newspapers?" Craig repeated his question, and he didn't move.

Bobby's right hand came off the steering wheel and in a short second was planted on top of Craig's head. "What did I tell you to do?" He asked before giving the boy a slow push backwards.

Craig slid back into the seat and fastened his belt. "So are you gonna tell us why we're getting papers? We got a newspaper at home." He felt a little pissed that Bobby had dismissed his question.

Bobby looked at him in the mirror. "Because Green talked to a reporter earlier today, before he was shot, and we need to find out who it was. Is that okay with you?" He spoke the last part with the same kind of irritation that Craig was feeling.

Craig shrank down in the seat a little. He hadn't meant to piss Bobby off, but he wanted to know what was going on, he had a right to know. He didn't want to be kept in the dark about anything else.

"You just sit your ass in that seat and keep quiet so I can do what I need to do, you got that?" Bobby asked him, his voice still tight.

"Yeah, I got it." Craig muttered.

"Good, the last thing I need it to be dealing with an attitude from you, I won't be so fucking patient the next time, there's too much shit going on." Bobby returned his full attention to driving.

Bobby's words confirmed that there was more to Green being shot than he had told them. He knew there was something more that he was keeping from him, but he wasn't about to ask now. He was sure Bobby was pissed at him. He needed to sit back in the seat and stay out of the way.

Jack pointed to the left side of the street. "There it is." He spoke up.

Bobby made the turn into the parking lot and pulled the car long ways across two empty parking spaces directly in front of the door. "Hurry up." He told Jack as the younger man got out of the car. He turned off the engine and drew in a deep breath.

Craig could tell his brother was worried, and he seemed nervous. He wanted to say something, but how he was afraid to.

Bobby turned in his seat and looked back at the boy. "You don't push me right now. Okay?" His voice seemed a little calmer.

Craig nodded his head slowly. "Sorry."

"Craig, I know you got questions. I got questions too, and I can't answer yours until I get my answers, right?" Bobby drew in a deep breath. "You gotta remember one thing right now, no matter what the hell we're doing, when I tell you to do something, you do it. This ain't no fucking game here. We ain't at home where I can keep you under constant watch. We are out of the house, and you ain't got the option of questioning me at all. If I tell you to sit your ass back, you sit back. You let me do what I need to do, and when I have the answers, I'll give them to you, you won't have to ask me." Bobby's eyes seemed to soften. "You okay?" He asked.

Craig nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that?" He kept his voice quiet and turned to look out the window.

"Because we care about you, you dipshit," Bobby seemed to be calming down. He let out a small laugh and sighed. "I do care Craig, and I know you want to know what's going on, but I honestly don't know right now. Just promise me that if I tell you to do something you'll do it. I mean if we find ourselves in any kind of sticky situation, I need to know that you are going to listen to me without questioning me, just like you did before, you remember that? That's the only way I can keep you safe. You understand that?"

Craig turned back to Bobby, and the look on his brother's face confirmed for him that Bobby was being truthful. "Yeah, I will. I promise." He spoke quickly. He wasn't sure he liked the idea that Bobby was expecting some sticky situation, but he would be sure to pay attention and do what Bobby told him. At least he wasn't being dropped off at the warehouse, or Jerry's house, or Sofi's mother's. He was with his brothers, almost being included.

Jack returned with the two newspapers Bobby had asked for. Craig wanted to sit up in his seat and look, but he didn't want to chance the move. He watched as Bobby and Jack each took a paper and started looking through them. The fourteen year old did slide up as far as the seat belt would allow him to, and he craned his neck as far as it could stretch, but he couldn't see anything more than the tops of the papers.

"Look for anything about Jordan and his trial." Bobby spoke quietly as he scanned the page in front of him. "We need the names of the reporters."

"Here's one." Jack pointed to the second page on his paper after only a few seconds.

"Yeah, I got one here." Bobby pointed to the front page on his. "Anita Brunks." He made a face as he read off the name of the reporter who wrote the article.

"Timothy Dearth." Jack spoke out a moment later.

"A guy, that's the one, it was a guy Green met with." Bobby rolled down his window, crumbled his paper and tossed it out.

Jack reached to stop his brother's action, but it was a second too late. "What the hell, man, I spent good money on that." He cried out.

"Stop your whining and look for the phone number for the paper. They print it somewhere in there." Bobby looked at Jack for a moment before reaching for the ignition key. "Is there a picture of Dearth with the article?" He started the car and put it in gear.

"Yeah, there is." Jack nodded his head and started going through the paper to find a number. "I don't see anything on a phone number for the news paper. Information should have it." He muttered as he reached for his phone.

Craig sat back in his seat. "Or you could look in a phone book." He looked at the pay phone attached to the side of the store Jack had just come out of. "Like that one," He pointed to the phonebook hanging by a chain from the shelf under the phone.

Bobby hadn't moved the car yet though it was in gear. He glanced back at Craig and a smile crossed his face. "That's my boy." He shoved the gearshift back into park. "Jack, go get that fucking book."

Craig watched as Jack got out of the car. He left the door standing open while he trotted to the phone. He grabbed hold of the binder the phone book was in and gave it a hard tug, breaking the thin chain easily. Craig waited until Jack got back into the car. "Isn't that stealing?" He asked.

Bobby laughed and looked back at Craig. "We'll bring it back." He teased before he put the car back into drive and pulled out of the lot and onto the street.

* * *

Timothy Dearth pulled his black overcoat on and twisted his neck slightly to the left, relieved when the popping and cracking that resulted seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders. He was ready to call it a day. He had barely slept and then he'd met with Lieutenant Green. He had given his editor the ultimatum when he came back into the office. He wasn't going to print any of the information that Jeff Jones had given him and if he didn't like it he would be looking for another job.

After talking with Green he was certain he'd done the right thing in contacting the detective. There seemed to be a hell of a lot more going on with the whole Jordan case than he'd ever imagined, and he didn't want to be involved with screwing around with an open investigation. He damn sure didn't want to jerk around with a young boy's life either. He was actually surprised that his editor caved. He had to promise to release some of the information after the fact, in a follow up article, but he could do that without bringing up Craig Mercer's name, he'd make sure of it.

Dearth had hoped to spend more time with Green, but he detective had taken a call, and he'd mentioned the FBI before he'd excused himself. He was supposed to get back with him by the end of the day, but he had yet to hear from him.

Dearth walked through the halls, heading for the elevator. He noticed the man in the hall, leaning against the wall next to the elevator. He didn't recognize him but he gave him a friendly nod and reached out to hit the call button. He waited patiently for his ride to make it up to the sixth floor.

He glanced at the man again, taking his appearance in with more detail. He wore a blue stripped shirt with a blue tie and a long black leather coat, but he was sporting blue jeans and work boots. Dearth felt a twinge of caution rise in him, mainly because the guy seemed to be watching him. He was thankful when the door of the elevator opened and he could step on.

His relief was short lived when he turned to hit the button for the ground floor and the man was stepping onto the elevator to join him. He forced his worry to the back of his mind and smiled at the man. "All the way down?" He asked. He told himself he was just tired, and his nerves were worked up because of the Jordan story and the Jeff Jones thing.

"Yes, please." The man nodded his head and watched the door close.

Dearth leaned back against the wall, and managed to convince himself that his nerves were simply worn thin, there was nothing at all to worry about. He believed his own logic, until the man turned and locked his eyes on him for a long moment before they narrowed. His voice came out steady, and quiet, but seemed to hold a threat. "Mr. Dearth, I'm Bobby Mercer and I believe we need to talk."


	48. Chapter 48

Okay, let me know.... and thanks to all for the reviews! :)

Legal stuff still counts.

* * *

**Chapter 48: The Heat Is On**

Bobby knew that he needed to find out all he could from Timothy Dearth. He didn't know who the hell the reporter had talked to, or what exactly it was that he knew that would be so fucking important that Green would arrange to meet with him, but it had to be something that sent up alarms for Green. It may very well have been what had put a bullet in the man. He needed to know what Green had found out before he could connect the dots. He had been on his way up to find Dearth and talk to him, but he'd spotted him through the door putting on his coat. He'd identified him by the picture that had accompanied his article in the paper and was surprised by his luck. It seemed the man was heading out of the office. He'd waited in the hall, sure that something had to happen to ruin this opportunity, but it hadn't. The man had even nodded to him as he hit the call button for the elevator. He grinned on the inside, not wanting to let his relief show outwardly.

It was when he stepped onto the elevator after his prey that he was sure his luck would collapse into a heap at his feet, but it didn't. He introduced himself with as little emotion as possible. He looked at the expression on Dearth's face and it wasn't fear he saw. He had heard his name and it didn't seem to have the effect Bobby had been expecting. In fact Dearth held his hand out towards him. "Mr. Mercer, I'm glad to meet you. Lieutenant Green spoke highly of you."

Bobby felt the surprise spread through him. "He did, huh?" He hesitated for a moment before accepting the man's offer to shake hands. He kept it short and pulled his hand back. "You spoke with Green earlier today." He commented before checking to see what floor the elevator was down to. He had planned on stopping the thing between floors, but hell, Dearth might just talk to him with no threats being offered.

"Yes, I spoke with him. He told you about that?" Dearth looked surprised.

"No, actually, he didn't." Bobby felt his voice tighten. "He won't be talking to anyone for a while I'm afraid." He let his stare penetrate Dearth's calm appearance. "But I need to know what you talked to him about." He went on. "Whatever it was, someone didn't take kindly to it. He's lying in a hospital right now because of it." Okay, so he didn't know that to be the fact, but Dearth wouldn't know that.

"What?" Dearth appeared genuinely shocked.

"He was shot after he met with you Mr. Dearth, and if it had to do with the Jordan case then I need to know. My family's well being is at stake here." Bobby kept his tone steady, trying to keep his street wise talk out of the words he chose; not wanting to put too much fear into the man, just enough to get the answers he needed.

Dearth's form slumped back against the wall he was leaning on. "There's a coffee shop across the street. Why don't I buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk?" He offered quietly, still no fear showing in the way he carried his self. He looked utterly mortified to hear Green had been shot.

Bobby looked up to check what floor they were on. "I don't have time for coffee." He shook his head and returned his attention to the man in front of him. He wasn't a kid, but he was young. He took in his appearance, he looked tired, and when he checked his hand he could see a wedding band. "You got a family Mr. Dearth?" He made sure to include 'Mr.', he wanted to show a bit of respect, at least if it would get him some answers. If it didn't, he'd drop the respect shit and treat this guy like he would any other fucker out to screw his family.

Dearth seemed surprised by the question, but he nodded his head. "Yes, Mr. Mercer, I do."

"You got kids?" Bobby pushed.

"One on the way," Dearth hinted at a smile, but seemed to be trying to keep it hidden.

"What would you do if some sick son of a bitch tore your family apart, stole your kid out from under your roof, and then kept coming back for more?" Bobby felt the rage seeping through every pore of his body.

Dearth stared at him; his lips must have gone dry on him, because he started licking at them, which normally would have Bobby satisfied that he'd scared the shit out of someone, but in this case he wasn't out to scare, and he didn't think the action was a result of fear but more of hard concentration.

He sensed that Dearth wasn't all that bad of a guy, he was a fairly young, naïve reporter who had been dropped into the middle of a fucked up situation. "I ain't a threat to you; I'm just asking you a question." Bobby spoke quickly, worried that he might be pushing the guy too far. He didn't want him to clam up completely on him.

Dearth drew in a deep breath. "Mr. Mercer, I would kill anyone who came near my family with the intentions of doing harm to them."

"I need to know what you told Green, and I need to know where you got your information Mr. Dearth." Bobby kept his voice quiet. The elevator came to a stop on the second floor and the doors opened. A man and woman stepped onto the car, taking positions between Bobby and the reporter.

All were silent the short trip left to the ground floor. Bobby kept his gaze on Dearth, and could tell the man was tossing his words around in his head. The reporter's eyes were downward, but dancing from left to right in a rapid motion. He didn't appear nervous or scared, only torn between his job and his ethics. Hell, a reporter with some ethics, there might be a God after all.

Bobby and Death waited until the other two passengers had stepped off the elevator before stepping off themselves. Dearth didn't keep a distance from Bobby; he stayed at his side as they walked onto the granite floor beneath them. "Mr. Mercer I have an obligation to keep my source confidential." He spoke quietly.

"And I have an obligation to keep my family in one fucking piece." Bobby responded, letting a little of his usual choice of words slip out, but he kept his voice calm. "Mr. Dearth, if your source is connected to Jordan, and I think that's the case, then this person is trouble. Trust me; you could be putting your family in danger just by talking to them."

Dearth pulled up on his steps, halting himself in the middle of the floor. Business suits were walking past, but seemed to be oblivious of their presence there. "Mr. Mercer, it would take a very good reason for me to give you any of the information I gave to Green. I didn't even give him the name of my source, so…"

Bobby's gaze fell on the two brothers he'd left waiting near the door, sitting on a bench. Craig was sitting with his head lowered, staring at the floor, obviously still upset that he'd been dragged into a public building and forced to sit where people could look at him. Jack looked bored watching the traffic on the street through the wide glass window on the opposite wall.

Bobby felt his heart twist on him as he spoke, "And he ended up with a bullet. Damn, nice source you got there Dearth." Bobby felt his temper raising enough that he dropped the 'Mr.' as he stopped his own momentum half a step ahead of the younger man. Maybe just a hint of the true Bobby Mercer was going to be needed to get through to this guy. He made a half turn to face him. "This has nothing to do with the legal shit you're so fucking worried about. This ain't got nothing to do with the cops or the courts, or anything else. It's got to do with me and mine." He kept his tone steady. "You look over my shoulder. There's a bench down there, under that picture of the Detroit skyline. You see the two kids sitting there? That's two of my brothers. You see the taller one? He'd argue the part about being a kid, but to me he's always gonna be a kid. He loves music. He wants to be a fucking rock star, and you know, he probably will be, he can do anything with a guitar. He came home for our mother's funeral, and he was shot to hell in front of our house. He's mostly healed, but he's gonna carry scars for the rest of his life. He's quiet, and gentle, just like me, most of the time." He let a quiet laugh slip as he spoke the words. Most people would have argued that description of himself. "But you piss him off and he can surprise you. You see the little one? He likes to scratch out pictures on paper. Hell, he's good at it too, draws pictures of trees and flowers and fuzzy soft animals. Lately his pictures ain't so fuzzy and soft though. He's kind of short for his age, but hell us Mercers come in a wide variety. He's the one Jordan got his hands on."

He could see the surprise in Dearth's eyes as they focused in the direction Bobby had motioned. He could feel now was the time to push a little harder. "I got two more brothers. One is planning on getting married soon to one irritating bitch, but hell, he loves her. The other one has two beautiful little girls, and he's trying to build a future for them. My family is all I got, and I'll do what I need to keep them safe." He drew in a deep breath. "You think Jordan was working alone? Hell, he was a pawn in a bigger picture, so someone coming to you with information is out to set us up for more shit, and they got no problem dragging you and your family down with us. Does that put any kind of a new light on your damn obligations Dearth?"

Dearth's eyes shot back to Bobby, his mind seeming to have cracked open at Bobby's final words. "Jones, Jeff Jones." He spoke quietly, barely a whisper.

Bobby felt his heart surge in chest. Jones, Jeff Jones. His mind screamed at him as it repeated the name. Jeff Jones. He managed to hold his hand out in front of him, offering a final handshake. He gripped Dearth's hand firmly in a small attempt to show appreciation for his help. "Thank you Mr. Dearth." He could feel the stiffness in his voice and the tightness growing in his chest as he turned to leave.

"Don't you want to know what he told me?" Dearth called out to him as he walked away.

"No need, it's not his words I'm fucking worried about." Bobby called out without turning back. His voice drew Jack's attention, but Craig didn't look up at him as he approached. Jack stood, and reached down to nudge the younger Mercer, which seemed to draw him out of whatever world he was lost in. The boy looked up but didn't stand.

"So what did he say?" Jack asked as Bobby stepped up to them.

Bobby reached down and grabbed Craig's arm. "Call Jerry, if you don't get him then you try Angel's phone. You call Camille, you call Sofi, you call the office, I don't care how you do it, but you get a hold your brothers." He spoke quickly while he pulled Craig to his feet and kept walking towards the door. He couldn't ebb his anger. He was pissed at himself for doubting Jack and Craig, he was pissed that he hadn't seen it for himself. He should have seen it, and felt it. He usually knew when he was in the presence of scum. He had let his focus waver and hadn't been on his guard and that was dangerous.

"What the hell is going on Bobby?" Jack walked on the other side of Craig.

Bobby pushed the door open and pulled Craig through to the sidewalk before turning to Jack. There was no phone in his hands; he wasn't making any attempt to call anyone. "Get your fucking head out of your ass little sister and start calling. We got trouble. Jones was the fuck head who talked to Dearth, so you and little brother here were dead on!" He let his own emotions show in his words and that worried him. He had to stay in control. He felt Craig freeze next to him, as if he'd lost all ability to move, and he gave him a quick tug into him, drawing him under his arm protectively as he continued walking.

Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened it as they approached the curb. He followed Bobby's lead, hesitating only long enough to make sure the traffic had enough of a gap that they could make it across to Jerry's car parked on the opposite side of the street. He was hitting buttons as they reached the car.

Bobby opened the back door of the car and pushed Craig inside. "Put on your seat belt and hang on." He told him, trying to ignore the look on the kid's face, that look of knowing. He had told him before, Adam Macks always came back. Shit, how the hell could it be possible? He'd watched the ass-hole take a bullet, he'd seen him go into the water and he hadn't surfaced. He didn't know how the man could still be walking and talking, and doing so with a whole new face. It wasn't possible; it was downright fucking not possible for him to be alive. But apparently he was.

* * *

Jeremiah motioned for Angel to take the west side of the warehouse, while he stepped quietly towards the east wall. Both men checked the shelves and stacks of old car parts piled in heaps around them as they made their way towards the back wall. Jerry glanced over at Angel and noticed he'd found a rusty iron rod and was carrying it with him as if it were a club.

Jerry started looking for something similar and decided that at some point he would have to sneak a gun in past Camille. He needed to have something around for times like this and she was against fire arms. She hated them. Hell, he hated what could happen with them, and he damn sure didn't want his daughters around them, but he also understood the need for them. He'd experienced the need for them all too many times for comfort. He wished he had one in his hands that very moment instead of the side railing of a metal shelf that he was lucky enough to come upon. He mirrored Angel with his grip on the hard, flat steal strip he carried as they reached the darker end of the storage space.

He let his eyes adjust to the shadows around him as he weaved around the larger pieces of rusted and junked equipment that rested on rows of metal shelving that were still intact, barely. The space had once been used by men working up a hard sweat to pull in a meager day's pay. His mind wondered back to the day when he had made the union his cause, the idea of doing something that mattered had seemed so appealing to him. Now he a new cause and he had put all he had into it.

He felt as if he'd had to sell his soul to get to where he was right now. He thought about his project and all the bullshit that he'd taken to make it a reality; the idea of having decent work with good pay for men who wanted to make their lives, their families' lives amount to more than drug deals and stealing cars. That was all he wanted, a decent future; and this building, this warehouse and office was the beginning of that future for him, his wife and kids, and his brothers. He was stepping through his future with each motion his feet made across the stained concrete. He should have known to watch for trouble in his future, it seemed to be the Mercer family way. Every time things started to get better something or someone had to crap it down to shit. He was so sick of his work being hammered down to nothing in front of his eyes.

His brain tried to reason with him that he was over reacting. Angel's caution had influenced his thinking. The whole Jones incident had his mind thrown off track. His brothers' fears and worries were like a virus, and he needed to get over it. He was carrying a beer in one hand and a fucking piece of steel in another hand ready to be used as a club because he had to be certain there was no intruder in his warehouse. Hell, he was certain it was nothing more than a fucking rat but he was reacting like Bobby and expecting the worst; typical Mercer traits just never ceased to creep back into his life.

Jeremiah reached the back wall on his side of the building just as Angel came into view in the west corner, at the end of the long shelves. He felt his muscles relax and managed to smile. He was about to call out to his brother, when a rat ran across the floor at his feet, and disappeared under the shelves next to him. He let out a holler and jumped back, raising his club, ready to pound the shit out of the huge rodent if it ran back out towards him. He realized his heart was racing, and he let his eyes change focus from the floor to Angel, who was moving towards him laughing and pointing.

"See, I told you, nothing but rats." Jeremiah started walking the floor towards Angel's direction, and shook his head slowly, feeling slightly embarrassed to having reacted like a fucking pussy in front of his little brother, and a little pissed that he'd let himself fall into the old mind set of being on the defensive. Of course it was expected, probably, after all that had happened with his family. First Sweet and his games, and then Macks and the trouble he'd brought on them. It was no wonder that it seemed so easy to fall into that old trap where his intentions had to be 'kill or be killed'.

"Damn, that was almost as good as Bobby's reaction would have been." Angel laughed as the two met up in the middle, close to the exit door that led to the stairway.

Jerry reached for the door and gave it a good check, making sure it was latched and locked before allowing his mind to take in Angel's words. "Hell, remember that time we were chasing those kids through that abandoned house down on South Street?" He asked as he raised his eyes to meet Angel's. "A fucking rat was sitting on top of a table and Bobby freaked out, screaming like a little girl." He laughed as the memory of Bobby's face and the shrill sound of his voice in that instant ran through his mind.

"Oh yeah, I do, it seemed a lot like you just now. Ah, the memories," Angel smiled and nodded his head as he let his long, slim rusted weapon drop to the floor at his feet and raised his beer to take a long drink. "I think we need more beer now man." He let out a short laugh as he lowered the bottle. "Come on, I'll buy this round."

"Smart ass," Jerry mumbled and turned to walk back the way he had come, still holding onto his piece of shelving, just in case the rat went to find any of his buddies.

Jerry let Angel back to the box where his beer was stashed and pulled out two more bottles, though he hadn't touched his yet. He had a feeling he was going to need a second one more than Angel would. He handed a bottle off to Angel and they made their way towards the hall door. Angel was busy describing to him how his face had looked when the rat ran in front of him, and he was being quite dramatic about it too, a bottle in each hand and the man still managed somehow to make hand motions in an attempt to imitate his moves. He reached the door first and turned to take one last look at the expansive space behind him. "I'm glad you find it so fucking hilarious Angel." He looked up at his brother as he opened the door.

Angel laughed a little more and turned to look behind them as well. Jeremiah watched the pure pleasure of his humiliation fade from Angel's features and was about to turn in the direction his brother was looking, but he didn't have the chance.

Jeremiah could see a bright flash out of the corner of his eye, his bottles of beer seemed to explode in his hands. In the same instant Angel was dropping his bottles, and diving hard into him, sending him through the metal door he was holding open. His ears seemed to burst with the sound of thunder and his mind hurtled around him as he hit the tiled hall way floor with Angel on top of him. Instant heat fingered at his entire body and seemed to plunge them both forward with a painful sweep.

He felt his body being pummeled by pain, and was sure every bone in his body was being crushed. He thought he could hear Angel yelling, but then realized it was his own voice, screaming out one long solid blast. Somehow he managed to open his eyes and could see the other end of the hall quickly approaching them with the wooden door closed tight. He braced himself for the bone crunching impact his body was about to take, but the door seemed to explode, splintering into minuscule slivers of wood in front of him, clearing the opening a fraction of a second before he and Angel hit the lobby floor.

Angel's body separated from him as he rolled first head over heels and then side over side across the lobby floor. His vision was flashing red and orange around him as he tumbled for what seemed an eternity. The air was forced out of him as his back struck the concrete wall opposite from the hall way he'd just been careened through. His lungs struggled to suck in air, to breathe, but it was if a charlie horse had gripped his chest and it wouldn't respond. He could see the heat washing around him, making the interior of the building appear to be drowning in oil with flickering flames dancing across the ceiling. His eyes found their way to the hall, and the sight of the wave of fire shooting in his direction gave his body the will to roll across the floor, towards the direction he hoped he'd find Angel. Black smoke seemed to spray into the lobby first, and then the whole room erupted in a wall of red and orange flames; at that moment his senses were turned around and he wasn't certain which direction led to the exit door and safety, and which led to his office and being trapped in hell.


	49. Chapter 49

I did try to get this up this morning, but it didn't work out :(

Let me know what you think, thanks to all for reading!

Legal stuff still counts.

* * *

**Chapter 49: Smoked**

Jessup Winston got out of the car and looked across the top to Macks, who was staring past him at the warehouse Jeremiah Mercer had made his base of operations. They had stopped and picked up the explosives from Winston's supplier, who only stared at him blankly when he handed over the money. He had hoped the man would ask for more bills than he had available, but he hadn't.

His only hope now was that his experience with explosives might get him out of this if he played his cards right. Macks knew the layout of the building, and had explained to him that the office was on the ground floor. The back of the building held an entrance to a stairwell. That entrance was in the basement. The stairwell crisscrossed the back of the building all the way up to the third floor.

Macks had wanted to rig everything in that main warehouse on the first floor, take the whole thing down in one fell swoop. With the charges placed right, it could be done. It could level the building almost instantaneously, though Winston had argued that the best plan of action was to plant the charges on the top floor, and let the building collapse on itself. He was hoping to find a way to screw the job up enough so that Mercer at least had something left to build from. But then if the building did go down the man might do better starting from scratch. Of course, with the whole thing coming down due to arson, he doubted the insurance would pay out. The Mercers had a reputation, and the whole thing would be questionable.

Macks grinned and looked at him. "Look at that. There are still some cars parked out front." His eyes danced like a five year old being handed a bag full of candy.

Winston turned and looked across the empty parking lot separating them from the street Mercers building loomed above. Hell, he was right, there were two cars there. "That means someone is in the building. I didn't agree on anyone getting hurt here. You want the building down, I'll help you take it down, but you sure as hell are not going to get me involved in another murder." He turned back to look at Macks. "You said the building would be empty."It was after five, the building should have been empty.

He felt his gut twist on him. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd had while riding in the trunk of Bobby Mercer's car not so long ago. He'd been sure the man was going to kill him. He was lucky that he hadn't. If Macks took him out he'd at least do it quickly. He had a feeling Bobby Mercer wouldn't be that kind and he didn't want to chance being the reason the man's brother died.

The hardest part about this was that Winston had actually formed something along the lines of respect for the Mercers during his encounter with them, though it had been painful for him. He reached up absentmindedly and felt at his mouth, the ceramic teeth implanted to replace the two Bobby Mercer had kicked out of him seemed to throb vaguely at the memory. He looked at Macks again, and shook his head. "I ain't taking a building down with people in it." He spoke firmly.

"Relax. Get in the car and let's wait." Macks' smile faded and he got back into the driver's seat.

Winston got into the car and pulled the door closed hard. He wasn't surprised that Macks pulled a cigarette out and lit it. He waved the smoke away from him and rolled his window down. "Damn, how can you smoke so much?" He asked. "Damn nasty habit and you gotta take it to extremes."He didn't bother trying to keep his disdain for the man or the smoke out of his voice. "We finish with this Macks, and that's it. Our business relationship is over with." He focused his eyes on the building across from them. He did his best to blank his mind of any thoughts. He was worried that no one would come out soon and Macks would grow impatient. It wasn't as if Macks liked to wait for anything.

Thankfully less than five minutes passed when the entrance door opened and two men he recognized as Jeremiah and Angel Mercer walked out of the building, each with a woman holding onto an arm. He felt his heart fill with envy. He knew Jeremiah was married, and assumed the woman latched onto him was his wife. Angel Mercer mirrored his brother's actions, helping his woman walk across the icy parking area to the car, and opening the passenger door for her. He planted a kiss on her lips before holding her arm in an effort to assist her in getting into the seat. He watched him close the door and lean down to the window, talking and smiling at her. Damn, both men were lucky, they had something he'd yearned for most of his life, a reason to be satisfied with what he had.

If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he heard Macks releasing a low growl next to him. He gave him a sideways look, and found him transfixed on the two couples across the way. He didn't know if it was his pure hate of the Mercers that caused the threatening fire in his eyes or if he was reading the look all wrong and the sick fucker was admiring the women. Either way, it sent chills down his back and turned on the acid in his stomach.

He couldn't stand looking at the trash to him so he turned back to the goodbye scene playing out in front of Mercer's warehouse. He was thankful that they were leaving. He expected Angel and Jeremiah to move in the direction of the other car, but to his disappointment, or perhaps it was more horror that filled him, both men watched the dark sedan drive away and turned back to the building. He mentally screamed at them to get the hell out of there, leave. Go home, go to a bar, go any fucking where but back inside that building.

Macks laughed quietly. "God has spoken to me brother." He was attempting an imitation of an evangelical preacher and failing at it pitifully. "Those Mercers are to die in that building, with the fire and brimstone of hell raining down on them." His gravelly voice took on an evil texture to it, and when Winston turned to flash a scowl his way, he could have sworn the man was possessed with a demon the way the features of his face heavily crusted over with pure hate.

"We can wait a few minutes. They might leave soon." Winston tried to reason with the man.

"It's going to take some time to do this job, Jessup; they got that long to leave. If they are still inside when the charges blow, then that's not our fault, now is it." Macks didn't divert his attention away from the building. "Come on, let's go." He took a long draw from the cigarette carelessly dangling from his mouth and opened his door.

Winston felt as if he were walking though a long dark tunnel, or sewer considering his company. He trudged to the back end of the car and waited while Macks opened the trunk. The two duffel bags were right where they had put them, damn. He'd been hoping by some miracle that they'd disappeared, prayed there was gaping hole hiding back there that the explosives could discreetly slip through. Of course if that had been the case, the resulting explosion and gaping hole in the street probably wouldn't have been so discreet and alerted them both. His mind snapped back to reality as Macks pulled one of the bags out of the trunk.

"Come on, get your ass moving. I ain't doing this shit on my own." Macks gave him a hard smack across the arm as he shouldered the strap of the bag he was carrying.

Winston reached for the remaining bag and lifted it out of the trunk. He didn't understand why the hell Jeremiah Mercer wasn't doing something, reacting in some way to the message he'd left on his voice mail. Surely the man had to have heard it by now. Of course, it may have been a bit vague, but you would think the man would be busting his ass to meet up with the rest of his brothers and deal with the situation. His cell phone hadn't ringed once since he'd been with Macks, shouldn't Mercer have at least called him back to find out what the fuck was going on?

He bit back on the irritation he was feeling. Hell, he was moving passed irritated, he was getting pissed. His life was on the line just as much as the Mercers. He had a family, he had a life to lead, though most of it had been flushed down the toilet because the Macks. He felt as if he had some threads of a life left to piece together though, and a chance to grasp hold of the kind of life the Mercer men in that building seemed to come by so easily. Couldn't Jeremiah Mercer cut him a break and listen to his fucking voice mail?

Macks led the way, working around the back of the building next to the Mercer warehouse. They made their way at a half trot across the short distance to the rear of the old building Mercer had planned his life around. Winston hoped the man had enough sense to lock up the door at the back of the building, but to his disappointment is opened easily under Macks' hand. What was even shittier was the fact that the hinges, which appeared to be rusted in the quickly fading daylight didn't let out one hint of a groan that might alert anyone to the presence of intruders.

It seemed Jeremiah Mercer had oiled them but wasn't bright enough to lock the stupid door. It wasn't until they stepped inside that Winston could see the interior of the door frame was barely a shell of its original self, rust having overtaken it. The door could have been locked and it wouldn't have mattered, there was nothing left of the catch to hold it. He sighed quietly as the continued to follow Macks up the metal steps to the ground floor level of the building. The door to the warehouse didn't appear to be in much better shape than the entrance door. But when Macks tried to pull on it, it didn't budge.

Winston attempted to focus his eyes in the dark space, struggling to watch as Macks set his bag down to dig through it. There seemed to be scantly spaced cracks in the exterior brickwork, allowed for little of the day's final light to seep through, and on the floor above them apparently there was a window because there was some light filtering down from the steps above. Macks pulled out what appeared to be screwdriver, and set to work on the door latch, removing screws and prying away the fragile remains of the frame. He was sure he could see a smile on the man's face when he leaned back from the door and pulled on the handle again. It sprung open and allowed them to walk through. Winston pointed to a couple of main supports along the exterior walls. "Only need a couple of charges down here Macks, don't go fucking wasting what you got." He warned as he set to work. He didn't make any attempt to keep his voice quiet, hell, he was hoping someone would hear him and come storming in to catch them and put an end to his nightmare.

He studied the west wall, and purposely set up to sabotage his own work. He moved to the middle of the shelving, and pulled out the can of accelerate. The liquid would burn hot, and there wasn't too much to it as far as fumes. He poured the shit around on the shelves in the back row and lost sight of Macks for a few minutes. He'd told the man not to set the charges too heavily in the warehouse; he prayed he listened to him.

They met at the door once the warehouse was rigged and made their way up to the empty floors above. He didn't like the idea of separating from Macks, he didn't trust him to follow his instructions and put the explosives in the positions he'd instructed him to. He also didn't expect him to use the amount of accelerate that he had been told to use.

Winston argued that it would be best if they stuck together, he wanted to be able to keep his eye on Macks, but the man insisted they needed to split up and save on some time. Winston took the second floor, Macks took the third. He planted one charge on the back wall, and then looked around the building. He didn't want to set any more than that; he hoped the one small charge would cause as little damage as possible. He could blame faulty wires, or wet conditions. The roof did seem to have a few leaks, but with the weather being so cold it would be difficult to convince Macks, still, he would try. He didn't douse any of the liquid fire around either. He carried his duffle bag around until he found a broken window and he tossed the whole thing out, trying to get enough force behind it to propel it as far from the building as he could. He stared out the window for a long moment, wondering what the hell he was going to do next. He finally turned to head back to the door, to meet up with Macks, only find his self meeting up with a crow bar square in the face. Everything went black…

* * *

Macks watched Jessup Winston fall to the floor, blood spewing from the giant gash across his face. He felt satisfaction at finally being able to put that son of a bitch in his place. He didn't like Winston; the man treated him as if he were mentally challenged. He thought he was better than him, and that he could fool him. But he was no idiot. He had stood outside Winston's apartment door and heard the message he left for Jeremiah Mercer. He'd heard him trying to give the Mercers a warning, and he had to admit that he had done a stand up job covering his seething anger the entire time he'd been in Winston's presence. He grinned as he thought about how Winston had fallen into this whole mess far too easily. He let the crowbar he'd found on the third floor fall to the concrete and turned away from the man. He headed back down to the first floor to set the charges that Winston had insisted didn't need to be set. He had an extra can of the flammable liquid, and he was sure he could put that to good use.

He didn't bother to hurry, but he didn't want to waste too much time. He hid the charges on the shelves, behind large, rusted pieces of junk car parts. He left both cans of the accelerate on the shelves as well. He was feeling excited, he was finally going to get to see his plan coming together, and he could barely contain his self.

He froze when the lights came on, and he peered out between some of the junk pieces, watching the two Mercer brothers strolling casually across the floor, unaware of what they were walking into. He checked quickly to be sure that he had the last of his explosives set properly, and then headed for the door, leaving his duffel bag resting on the bottom shelf in the last row.

He pushed the door open and as it moved a piece of steel something fell off the shelf where he'd just been standing. He stepped through the door quickly, ducking down, though there really was no need to, the men couldn't see him. He drew in a deep breath and listened carefully to the sounds in the warehouse. The men were talking, and didn't seem to be moving his way, so he took the chance and pushed the door closed. He could hear the clanking sound that followed, and for the first time he worried.

He used his hand to push the rust weakened frame of the door back into place, but it wasn't as good as he'd hoped. He was sure that he could hear movement in the warehouse, and couldn't take the chance on putting any more effort into the door. He had to count on it being good enough that if it was tested it would hold tight enough that it would appear secure.

He turned and moved down the steps, trying not to hit the metal loud enough for any cause for alarm. He was close to the door that would empty him out at the back of the building when he thought he heard a scream from above him. His heart stopped, as did his feet, while he strained to listen for any sound of being pursued. He was sure he was about to have an unpleasant encounter, but then the muffled, distant sound of laughing drifted around on the air. He smiled and headed to his car so that he could watch the fireworks. He retraced his steps, and was lucky enough to find the bag Winston had discarded out the window. He figured he'd find a use for the contents, and moved quickly between the buildings, across the street and over the parking lot.

No sooner had he'd gotten into the car he pulled the radio transmitter from under the seat and hit the button. The show started and he lit a cigarette so that he could sit back and enjoy the display. He noticed the car lights coming up the street, but didn't pay much attention to them. So what if someone else had the opportunity to enjoy the show? It wasn't a surprise when the car slowed down to a stop half a block away. He couldn't blame the fool for wanting to keep a safe distance. The street lights were on, but they were dim, and he couldn't make much of car out past the headlights shining in his general direction.

He didn't want to pay that much attention to the other car, he wanted to watch his handy work playing out. He turned back to the explosions hammering away at the brick, filling the air with ear piercing claps and rumbles. Somehow he heard the sound of the car's engine gunning, but barely. He turned his eyes towards where the car had been parked, and was dumbfounded to see the white Volvo streaking past him and towards the devastation taking place on the opposite side of the street.

* * *

Jeremiah's lungs found some form of muscle control and sucked in a deep breath, only to be met with the fumes and burning smoke filling the front lobby of what used to be his office space. His lungs rebelled against the burning and he coughed relentlessly while still trying to pull in air. He tried to open his eyes, but it felt as if he had been transported into another dimension, one full of thick black smoke and deadly, poisonous gasses. His eyes stung and slammed shut on him against his will.

He tried to pull himself up onto his hands and knees but it seemed as he rose up the heat intensified a thousand times, forcing him down onto his stomach. He used his legs and arms to propel his body forward with his eyes closed; moving at what felt to be nothing more than a snail's pace towards what he thought would be the direction of his office. He groped along the grey tiles with his hands ahead of him and kept his face down towards the floor. His hand struck something soft and wet, and his mind, reeling from the confusion, directed him to turn the other way and keep moving. Only after a few inches did his brain absorb the possibility that he had found Angel, still and unmoving in the abyss of perpetual black surrounding him. He moved back and grappled to take hold of what he prayed was Angel's shirt. His mind flashed a picture of his brother's smile, the one that always seemed to hint that he knew more than he was willing to let on, and it seemed to spawn a hidden strength from somewhere deep in his soul.

With his eyes still glued closed against the inhuman conditions washing around him he managed to get his feet under him and thrust his arms around the wide frame that would be Angel's chest. He dragged the dead weight as quickly as he could towards the opposite direction of the roaring flames behind him, and towards what he prayed was his office door, relying only on a mental picture of his building to guide his way.

He kept his body hunched over all the while and would later swear that the wall collapsed and fell around him, but the truth of the matter would be that he ran head long into the newly hung and painted plaster board, directly next to his office door. He felt for the door, to his left, it had to be to his left. After what felt like an eternity his hand grasped the round handle and he managed to pull it open enough to drag his weary and beaten body as well as an unconscious Angel through the opening. He let Angel drop, not worrying about the impact his body would make with the floor while he wrestled with the door. He managed to get it closed, and while the office was filling quickly with smoke and fumes, the heat was a little less intense, and he was finally able to lay low to the floor and find enough air to pull into his lungs. He opened his eyes, and though they were still burning hot he managed to focus on Angel, lying close to him, blood dripping from somewhere on his body. He grabbed hold of his brother's arm and gave him as hard a shake as he could manage "Angel!" He attempted to yell, but his voice came out scratchy and felt like fire. He gasped for what air might be left near the floor and tried again to rouse the unconscious man next to him.

The sound concrete and steel groaning and popping just outside the door alarmed him. Seconds seemed to pass before Angel started to cough and turned his head ever towards him, his eyes barely visible behind slits. The sound outside the door became more ominous, reminding Jeremiah of the sound trees would make if they were to split in half and crash down to the ground. His mind could envision the ceiling crashing in around him, and he did the only thing he could think of. He took the same position as he had just moments earlier to drag Angel towards the room off of his office, the room that he had designated the executive restroom.

Angel was coming around enough to try to help, and with their combined effort the two of them made it through the door just moments before the entire office seemed to fly into an angry rage with bricks and drywall disintegrating into dust and debris, blasting in every direction. The force of what appeared to be the building collapsing around them vibrated through ever floor tile, wall, beam and joist, penetrating through every nerve in Jeremiah's body. He reached behind him and gave the door a hard pull inward, effectively closing out the threat of being crushed to death by the very building that had represented his own future, at least for a brief moment. He knew it wouldn't be long before the floors above came crashing down on both of them, crushing the life out of them, and destroying any kind of future that might have been. He huddled with Angel in the back corner, as far away from the roar that he knew was the inferno on the other side of the door, and squeezed his eyes closed as he started praying to God to watch over his children and wife, and help them get past the hardships that were about to fall on them.

"Fuck, Jerry, what the hell? Get off your sissified ass and help me get Angel the fuck out of here!"

Jeremiah opened his eyes and looked up. That stupid son of a bitch!


	50. Chapter 50

Thanks for reading, and thanks for the reviews all, you guys are too nice to me!

Do not own, make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 50: Airbags?**

Craig felt his arms raise goose bumps as he pulled his seat belt around him and fastened it. He felt as if the air had been sucked out of him. Bobby had confirmation from someone else that there was definitely a problem with Jones and that should have made him feel better. It didn't, it had him more frightened. Bobby hadn't gone into much detail on what it was the reporter had told him. There hadn't been enough time for him to actually give a word by word account of their conversation and it was obvious he wasn't going to offer that information just yet.

Craig wasn't about to try to question him on it either. He had been trying to convince himself that it had been his imagination playing games with him after the long hours he'd spent closed up in that room with Porter, rehashing the nightmare that had been his experience with Adam Macks.

Now he was wondering if his first look into Jones' eyes had been as right on as he'd thought. He had been so sure that he'd seen Adam in those eyes, behind the strange face. Jack had explained that away by saying it was the look all sick fuckers held in their eyes, that he could see the resemblance as well, but it was probably that look that both of them recognized. Still the teen had the feeling eating away at him deep inside that he'd looked into the face of his father and he couldn't shake it, no matter how much logic he tried to use on himself. He felt he could honestly say to anyone he talked to that he knew Adam Macks better than any other living person, he was his father after all, and he'd spent the first years of his life under the man's disturbed control.

The car pulled away from the curb and into the heavy traffic clogging the streets with a hard jerk, and the engine gunned hard. Jack was trying to make contact with one of his brothers on his cell phone, and flipped the phone closed quickly. "Voice mail," He muttered, but it didn't seem he was talking to anyone in particular, mostly confirming to himself what he'd heard on the other end of the line. He opened the phone almost instantly and hit more buttons on it. He held it up and listened while Bobby swerved around a garbage truck carelessly, picking up speed as he drove. Moments later Jack was slamming his phone closed in frustration. "Damn it Angel ain't answering either!" He cried out and let out a heavy huff. His eyes darted to the street as the engine gunned loudly under Bobby's influence. "Bobby, slow down a little, you're gonna get us killed."

"Get back on the phone, keep trying!" Bobby called out above the blast of a car horn that Craig was fairly certain had been met for them. Bobby returned in kind, letting out one long blare of a warning to whomever or whatever was in front of them. He yelled out an incoherent howl and the car took a hard jolt to the left, pressing Craig firmly against the door. He barely had time to do a quick visual check of the door lock to be certain it was secure before he was sucked back towards the interior of the vehicle, nearly falling over into the seat. He pulled himself back up just as his brother came up to the back end of a city maintenance truck.

"Hang on!" Bobby yelled out.

Craig braced himself using his arms against the back of Bobby's seat as the man sped through the traffic, weaving in and out of the cars as he passed them. He squeezed his eyes closed a few different times, ready for the speeding car he was riding in to collide with another, coming to an abrupt stop. Every time he could see an impending crash in front of him Bobby managed to twist the steering wheel hard and pull them into another direction.

Jack hadn't been able to get an answer from Jerry or Angel, and that fact had brought out the aggressive driving, just as it would bring out more aggression in other ways from his brother once he located the two Mercers that were unaccounted for. After hearing his brother spit out the words that Jones had talked to the reporter, Craig knew he was acting on pure instinct and that was something that he wasn't about to question, though he thought that he could possibly act on his instincts a with a little less pressure on the accelerator. There was a long five seconds of no breaks squealing or horns blasting and Craig chanced a peek around Bobby's seat.

The pedestrians traversing a crosswalk, well lit by streetlamps straight ahead, were oblivious to the careless driver behind the wheel of the safest car ever made. Bobby hit the horn and screamed words that Craig wasn't allowed to repeat as the car's momentum seemed to increase. The fourteen year old ducked back behind the seat and held his breath; preferring not to witness the slaughter of innocent men and women making their way home from a long day at work.

"What the fuck Bobby! Watch out!" Jack yelled out from the passenger's seat, his right hand shooting to the vinyl above his head, his left hand planting hard on the dash in front of him. "Shit!" He yelled out as he turned his head towards Craig, apparently not wanting to see the massacre either.

Craig heard the screaming from the people on the street and Bobby's yelling, but the breaks never once took hold of the wheels beneath them. His brother wasn't about to slow down. He felt his body cringe about the time that he should have seen bodies hurtling through the air past the window next to him, but instead the car swerved hard to the right, and then cut back to the left. The group of people, having dispersed in all directions, was yelling and screaming at the madman behind the wheel, but seemed to have escaped any harm, other than having had their lives flash before their eyes.

"Just shut the fuck up Jack and try to get a hold of Camille or Sofi!" Bobby yelled from his seat. "Did you try the office?" He added as he yanked hard on the wheel in his hands, sending the car into to a hard left turn, the momentum of the car changed a little more quickly than its occupants and Craig felt his body pulled hard to the right, falling into the seat next to him. If it hadn't been for the seat belt holding him in place he would have ended up on the floor behind Jack.

He sat up in time to see that they were coming up on a bus quickly. Bobby started to pass, pulling to his left, and into what appeared to be the empty lane on the left hand side of the road. "Fuck!" The man yelled out when the endless bumper to bumper line of headlights came into view. The car jerked back into place behind the bus just as the oncoming traffic started to streak past.

The sudden joggle pressed against the teen like a heavy weight, holding him into the door, and then releasing him with no warning. His hand grasped the handle molded into the door and he managed to catch himself, preventing a third encounter with the seat to his right. "Bobby!" He cried out, not able to hold in the fears that were slowly kindling inside.

"It's okay Craig, just hold on to something!" Jack was the one that turned to him, his phone held against his right ear. He turned back to face the front just Bobby turned sharply to the right, jumping the curb and taking the Volvo to the wide sidewalk there.

Craig was sure he heard Bobby laughing loud, but his eyes had slammed closed on him with no warning, so he couldn't actually see if the man wore the laugh on his face that he thought he heard, or if he was yelling out because he realized he'd made some kind of grave error and was propelling them all forward to their doom.

The teen opened his eyes to peek out from the safety of darkness to see the few people that were walking in front of them scattering to both sides. Bobby didn't have room enough room to squeeze in between a bench on the driver's side and the front of a building on the passenger's side and Craig was sure he'd pull back out onto the street. The bus was blocking that option however, so Bobby ran straight into the metal and wood object, dragging it twenty feet before it turned and slid out towards the curb, the force sending it into a roll that didn't stop until it crashed into the side of the bus Bobby seemed to be racing to the intersection ahead of them.

Craig remembered the ride he'd taken with his brother's the night they had chased down Stanley and his buddy and he was wondering if this was a normal happening for them. Jack seemed just as frightened as he was, and was yelling at Bobby again as the intersection grew closer, but Bobby acted as if this was normal, as if he did it all of the time. The boy decided at that moment that his brothers could leave him out of this part of the brotherly bonding process from now on. At the same time, the adrenaline rush was washing out the fears that had been gripping at him most of the day. True, they had been replaced by a desperate need to get out of that car, but he had forgotten about them, at least for the moment.

Craig's eyes were fixed on the busy intersection in front of them as Bobby swerved the car between two sign posts, one of them being a stop sign positioned on the corner of that intersection. The boy felt his body slam into the door again and this time he dove for the seat as soon as the invisible wall holding him there released him, he was sure that their luck had run out and didn't want to see the crash that was about to claim them. He felt the car lurch to the right hard, and heard the tires screeching under him. There were more horns sounding, and he was sure he heard metal crunching against metal on all sides of him. The car didn't stop moving though, and it seemed to be traveling in a forward motion, no swerving or jerking about. He stayed as low as he could while raising his head and looked between the seats out the front windshield. The traffic seemed to have thinned out, and it was starting to look as if it might be safe to sit up.

"Where is my phone?" Jack called out. He was leaned over slapping his hands around on the floor board under his feet.

"Fuck the phone! Forget the phone! No one is answering the damn phone!" Bobby yelled.

"Make up your mind!" Jack sat up in his seat without his phone in his hands.

Bobby turned onto another street that seemed vaguely familiar to the boy. He felt the car speed up and they continued down the street for what felt like forever. The buildings were thinning out, and the store fronts and office buildings of downtown Detroit were behind them. They were closing in on the warehouse.

Craig breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in the seat. He looked at Jack who turned towards him. "Are you okay back there?"

Craig stared at Jack for a long moment. "Promise me you are going to teach me to drive, and not Bobby." The boy muttered.

Jack's mouth almost turned up on both sides to form a smile, and he looked as if he were about to say something.

"Hell no, I will teach you to drive when the time comes, and you will learn the right way!" Bobby hit the gas, as if to put some sort of finality to his statement. "Now shut the fuck up and hang on."

Bobby didn't slow down until they were nearly a block from Jerry's warehouse. Craig unfastened his seat belt and leaned forward, relieved to see the building, and Sofi's car parked out in front of it. He sighed and looked at Jack, who was staring ahead silently.

When he glanced at Bobby the man looked confused. "If there is someone there, why the hell won't they answer the fucking phone?" He asked the question, but didn't look away from the view in front of him a block down the street. He did seem to relax and the car slowed down to the speed limit.

A moment passed in silence before Jack spoke. "You know, they all may have decided to go out and get something to eat. It would be stupid to take both cars and they might have gone in one." He suggested.

"They would have called." Bobby scowled as they drew closer to a stop sign half a block away.

At that moment the top of the building seemed to break apart. Fire and smoke seemed to barrel through the front windows, with an ear blasting roar. Craig felt his heart stop and at the same moment the brakes slammed hard under Bobby's foot. There seemed to be another explosion that rocketed bricks out and away from both sides of the warehouse, the resounding 'boom' seemed to ring through Craig's ears and he pressed his hands over them instinctively. They sat there for a long moment, all three gaping at the sight in front of them.

"Oh my God, do you think…" Jack looked at Bobby, tears pooling his eyes.

Craig felt his gut twisting on him. "Bobby?" He asked quietly.

"Get the fuck out of the car!" Bobby turned to Jack. "Right now, grab your brother and get out!" His voice barely made it past the ringing that had shot through the boy's head, and the hands pressed tightly over his ears.

Jack didn't hesitate; he was pushing his door open and then moving to the rear door. Craig barely realized Jack was leaning in and unbuckling the belt holding him in. He let his hands drop from his ears and complied with Jack who was tugging at his arm. He slid across the seat and out the door. He didn't remember the doors being slammed shut, but he heard Bobby shouting to Jack to stay with his younger brother, and to get out of sight, no matter what the fuck happened they were both to stay out of sight. He turned around in time to see the Volvo kicking up gravel and smoke and its tail end took a sideways skid for only a moment just before it shot straight ahead.

"Bobby!" He cried out, and would have run after the car, but Jack caught him up by the waist and held onto him.

He watched as his oldest brother picked up speed as he guided the car up the street in the direction of the inferno. He could see the only father he'd ever really know guide the white mass of metal across the parking lot, and up the ramp leading towards the entry door of the warehouse before it went airborne. Somehow Craig was sure he could hear the collision when the Volvo crashed into the corner of the first floor where Jeremiah's office had been located. The boy was sure he could hear bricks crashing in and the car mangle on impact, despite the distance separating them and the roar of the fire.

"Bobby!" Craig felt tears rolling down his cheeks, and he let Jack pull him around to face him and wrap him in a hug. His heart sank to his knees and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stay on his feet. He couldn't lose his brothers, none of them, but the idea of losing Bobby seemed to stab at him most of all.

"It's gonna be okay kid, I promise." He spoke the words with a tremble in his voice and it didn't sound very convincing. "Come on, you heard him, we need to get out of sight."

Craig didn't understand the words, or the need for them to hide, but he let Jack pull him towards the doorway of the closest building to them. It appeared to be abandoned, just as most of the buildings in the area were. Jack pulled him close and they ducked into the shadow of the deep walkway directly in front of the boards that had been nailed over the door. Both peeked around the corner of to try to see something, anything that would signify their brothers were in one piece.

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Bobby felt the car leave the ground, just as he'd planned. He thought enough to pull his foot off the accelerator, but for some reason found it necessary to try to turn the steering wheel to the right when it seemed he wasn't going to hit the side of the building quite in the area he'd wanted. It seemed he was suspended in the air for an eternity, and just as the front of the Volvo was about to crash into the bricks staring him down he wondered if maybe he'd made the wisest choice. He looked down at the steering wheel and verbally abused his own stupidity for holding onto it with such a death grip. He pried his fingers away, and dove into the seat as the front end of the car started to peel back, working its way towards him. He could hear the engine whine and felt the front end dip, sending him to the floor. Some part of his body managed to wedge against the accelerator. Just as the engine revved the wheels must have caught something to hold onto and the car seemed to speed up, spinning in the thickening smoke building up around him.

The world spun around him and he waited for the dizzying motion to cease. It did, with a hard crash against the passenger side of the car. His whole world turned upside down on him, and he was tossed onto the ceiling of the car, which apparently had come to rest on the ground. He coughed at the pain that racked at his still healing ribs, and he yelled out when he pulled his body across the shredded vinyl interior of the car's top. He clawed his way out of the car and into a wall of smoke. "Jerry!" He managed to call out, "Angel!" His voice picked up volume, but was met only with the sounds of collapsing beams and walls. He looked up to where the ceiling should have been and could see only black smoke. When he lowered his gaze he could see the door of what Jerry had bragged to be the executive restroom. He looked back at the wall he'd just crashed through and was surprised to see the gaping hole seemed to be clear of any rubble. When he dragged his body up off the floor he turned slightly and quickly figured out where the rubble and debris had ended up. The car was practically buried completely. He coughed at the smoke trying to invade his lungs and moved to the restroom door. If he was trapped in that office, that would be his final destination. He stumbled across the bricks, his eyes burning from the heat and fumes quickly surrounding him. He pulled the door open and looked in, barely able to make out what was hiding in the dark.

He felt elation building up inside of him, and nearly ran over to both of his brothers, ready to grab hold of them and yell at them how much he fucking loved and needed them both. Instead he took his usually pissed off stance and shook his head. There was Jerry, holding onto Angel, with his eyes squeezed tight. Angel was looking up at him, a shadow of a weak grin spreading across his face.

"Fuck, Jerry, what the hell? Get off your sissified ass and help me get Angel the fuck out of here!" He took the few steps needed to get to them and crouched down. "You okay man?" He looked at Jerry, letting his voice lose the cut it held initially.

"I'm fine, but Angel…" Jerry seemed to be in a fog. "Bobby, what the fuck do you think you're doing? How did you get to us? There ain't no door on this end of the building!" The fog appeared to be lifting.

Bobby grinned at his brother, knowing that as soon as he seen his car he was going to be pissed off. "Don't worry about it. We gotta get the fuck out of here before this whole place comes down on top of us!" He yelled at Jerry. "Come on, get moving!"

Angel allowed Bobby and Jerry both to help him to his feet, with each taking a side to support him. The three of them moved through the door and out into what was left of Jerry's office. Bobby ignored the words that escaped Jeremiah, "Ahh, Fuck you Bobby! My car…" It was exactly what Bobby had expected to hear. Yep, Jerry was gonna be just fine. Now he only had to worry about Angel as they moved as quickly as they could towards the opening Bobby had added to the front corner of the room.

The sounds of falling concrete behind them seemed to give all three more momentum as they hurled themselves through the hole in the wall. All three of them sprawled out in different directions in the grassy patch right next to the parking lot just as the entire ceiling caved in, sending dust and smoke and fire through the opening behind them.

Bobby turned and looked at Jerry, who was looking at him. "Hell, that wasn't so fucking bad." He grinned. "By the way, Jerry, you was ripped off."

Jerry scowled at Bobby. "What the fuck are you talking about? We just barely made it out of there with our lives." He cried out.

"Yeah, I know, but I mean the car." Bobby breathed a little too heavily, and coughed at the dust that seemed to cake his entire body.

Jerry looked even more confused. "What?"

"Hell, man, the fucking airbags didn't' even go off. I would sue them if I was you. Do you realize that your little brothers could have gotten killed on the ride back here? That was a brand new fucking car wasn't it?" Bobby laughed as he looked across the wet, brown grass that was still patched over with snow.

Bobby's laughing increased when Jerry muttered, "Fuck you Bobby."

After taking a second to catch their breath both stood and helped Angel to his feet. They moved quickly in the direction Bobby had left Jack and Craig, down the street.


	51. Chapter 51

Thanks to all for reading and for the reviews, you guys are the best! :) Keep them coming!

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**Chapter 51: Nightmares Come True**

Craig couldn't tear his fixed gaze away from the corner of the warehouse; where the Volvo had disappeared into the angry void of bricks and fire quickly engulfing the structure. He could feel Jack's arm around his shoulders, and Bobby's coat had been keeping him warm all day, but he felt his body shaking. He prayed his brothers weren't burning alive in the same manner that Bobby seemed to find pleasure in threatening other people with. He realized his hand had clasped around Jack's, and started to pull it away, feeling a little embarrassed to be holding onto him. Jack's hand tightened around his, and the boy managed to glance down at it for a short moment.

"I need to hold onto something right now." Jack spoke just loud enough for the boy to hear him and Craig was thankful for the words. He could sense Jack was giving him a reason to keep his hold on his hand, and he it helped to ease the nerves that were building up inside.

Craig looked back up to the building. "Where are they?" He asked, sure that a lifetime had passed since the car had crashed through the wall and disappeared from view.

"Bobby will find them." Jack gave his hand a slight squeeze. "Have a little faith in the Mercer luck kid."

"Jack, have you noticed anything about that luck lately?" Craig muttered without thinking.

Jack laughed quietly, "You mean the Mercer luck? Hell, kid we keep beating all the odds, haven't you noticed that?"

Craig didn't look up to Jack, though he probably would have if he hadn't caught sight of the three forms diving out of the side of the building with a trail of dust and debris following them. His heart picked up speed, feeling like the whining engine of the Volvo with Bobby behind the wheel. They were out, all three of them; he'd seen them, though they disappeared for a long moment behind the rolling smoke and dust that had apparently swept them clear of the building. He started to feel as if his family had finally been granted some kind of holy reprieve and that things were going to be okay.

His mind decided to crash his hopes and stir up new fears. He pictured an image he'd seen once on television of a volcano erupting. The site of the smoke cloud and the fire all seemed to blend into the sky line, rising up and blocking out the view of everything around it, giving off the same kind of appearance as an eruption. The idea of his brothers being caught in a wall of choking, burning smoke raised bile to his throat. The smoke seemed to mushroom up above the building, but lower towards the ground it cleared and drifted around in the wind. As the air cleared closer to the ground the three bodies took form, barely, and they weren't moving.

Craig started to move out of the doorway, pulling to get away from Jack and run towards the spot that he was certain his brothers had just died. They were lying on the ground in front of the cavernous hole that was now belching out hazardous waste and flames, motionless and still. If they were alive they should have been getting up and running away from what was left of the building.

Jack wouldn't release his hold on him though. "Bobby said to wait here." His voice sounded tight, as if he wanted to give into the same urge as Craig, obviously having seen the three elder Mercers lying in the danger zone.

"But…" Craig started to argue, tears choking at him as he thought of all the things that happened in the past month, and how it seemed unfair for him to struggle for seven years to find some kind of a connection with his brothers only to have it ripped away in what seemed such a small period of time. It wasn't fair. He'd lost Evelyn, and now he was losing Bobby, Jerry and Angel. It wasn't fair, and he could feel all of the confusion and anger growing at the idea of having to start over, with a whole new life, just when he was starting to get used to the one that had been left to him, the one with his brothers; the life that he'd been ready to accept with Bobby.

"He said to stay out of sight Craig." Jack's voice took on a tight texture, and he gave the teen a slight pull back into the shadows. "Stay back here." He pushed Craig behind him and held him there, trapped in the corner.

Craig hadn't expected the action and was confused. It was if a switch had been flipped and suddenly Jack was pissed, or worried, or a mixture of both. He had been learning how to read his brothers, but it had been Bobby that he'd been around most of the time.

He was about to ask Jack what the hell was wrong with him, when the doorway they were in lit up brightly with what Craig's mind could only decipher as headlights. A car was driving towards them, not just by them, but headed at them head on. Once he had processed that little bit of information the rest seemed to click instantly. They weren't safe in that doorway.

Jack turned back to look at the door and examine the boards blocking their way for a short second. "Come on." Urgency seemed to take hold of his voice as he grabbed the boy's left hand and pulled him along after him, abandoning their cubby hole.

Jack turned sharply to the left, towards the warehouse, dragging Craig along with him at a speed the boy wasn't sure he could keep up with. The car, which seemed to be coming towards them from the parking lot on the opposite corner, turned with them, and the world around them illuminated under the headlights once more.

Craig could hear the engine gunning hard, as if the driver, whoever it may be, had pushed the gas pedal to the floor. He didn't have the time to acknowledge the fear that was welling up; there wasn't enough time to think about anything other than the car closing in from behind.

Jack glanced back behind them, and with no warning gave Craig a hard push towards the building lining the street to their left, diving in the same direction. Craig felt his body slamming to the sidewalk with Jack on top of him, and they seemed to slide across the concrete until the old brown bricks of the structure's wall brought them to an abrupt halt. The car's breaks screamed out as the deadly machine screeched past them, turning and sliding sideways as it passed.

Everything around Craig seemed to be spinning as he watched the car do a one eighty in the middle of the street, aiming back in the direction. The engine gunned again, and it was bearing down on them once more. Jack was grabbing the boy by his arms and hauling him back up to his feet all the while, though Craig couldn't comprehend what was going on around him. His focus was on the car. He felt Jack pushing him hard into another doorway.

"Bobby!" Jack's voice yelled out from behind him and the sound of crunching wood bellowed out with it, slicing through the jumble of noise from the warehouse fire and the car engine that were already soaking through Craig's senses. "Craig, move your ass!" Jack gave him a hard jerk backwards, and Craig realized this door hadn't been boarded up and his brother had been able to bust it in. Jack pulled him into the pitch black as the car picked up speed, aiming for them.

The interior lit up as Jack dragged him across the empty room and through another door, into a wide hallway with graffiti littering the walls and trash strewn across the floor. The entire building filled with the sounds of bricks and wood imploding under the impact of the car, the air seemed to vibrate with the sound of the revving engine that still seemed to be coming towards them. Craig let Jack pull him to the right, towards a stairway leading up; and though he was trying to keep pace with Jack's long legs, he knew he was too slow. His legs felt as if they were treading through mud and wouldn't move.

"Come on Craig, help me out here!" Jack cried out as the wall behind them gave way and the relentless headlights came shining through. The car came to a stop there, the front end hanging through the remains of the wall, with the engine still running.

Craig looked back just in time to see the driver's face through the swirling dust and exhaust quickly sucking the air out of the hallway. His muscles froze on him and the mud he felt he'd been trying to wade through turned to hardened cement.

Adam Macks was staring up at him, a smile spread across his face. He wore another face but there was no doubt in his mind that this was the man that could control him in every way possible. "Jack." He barely got the word out. Time seemed to stand still as all the things this man had done to him in his lifetime seemed to run through his head. He could feel the bullet ripping through his back from years before. He felt his hands on him, and felt his breath on his face.

Jack was still pulling on him. "Craig! Look at me!" He yelled as he jerked the boy up to the next step.

Craig felt his body moving upwards but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the man moving in the car, opening the door and standing, almost in a casual way. He thought his bladder would empty out right there, but Jack came back down a step, his arm encircled the boy's stomach, lifting him off his feet.

Jack managed to get them up the next four steps, where the view of the car was finally blocked by the wall and ceiling of the second floor. Craig's brain seemed to snap back to reality, at least enough that he could move his own legs. "That's him…" He started to sputter out words.

"I know, just move your ass!" Jack spoke quickly. He dropped him back to his feet, took hold of his hand and continued running up the stairs.

Craig couldn't see anything once they reached the dark interior of the second floor. There were windows lining one wall and light from the few streetlamps outside filtered through, but it was dim, and his eyes needed time to adjust to the change.

Jack continued pulling him at a hard run, weaving around what may have been the remains of office cubicles that had been dismantled and left in piles across the floor, and chairs resting on their sides. Craig tried to keep up and not slow Jack down, staying half a step behind him.

He thought they would never reach the other end of the room, it felt as if it stretched out forever. Their feet pounding on the floor mixed with the rush of blood pulsing through his ears and it all seemed to play with his sense of direction. He reached out with his free hand and clutched onto Jack's arm with a white knuckle grip. He was sure he could hear echoes of their own running behind him, and it was then that he realized it was the monster from his nightmares, following at a run, trying to catch up to them.

"Jack!" Bobby's voice sounded faint against more subtle sounds that were in the immediate vicinity. Craig's heart started pounding harder in his chest as they reached a door at the end of the room. Jack pushed on it, but it didn't budge.

"Fuck! Craig, run!" Jack breathed heavily. He turned to look behind them, and in that instant a hand holding a pistol flashed into Craig's view, the butt end of the pistol cracking hard against Jack's jaw, sending him to the floor in a heap.

Craig tried to follow Jack's orders, but he was trapped. Adam Macks was in his path, and the trashed fabric walls of abandoned cubicles barricaded any alternative route. He tried to dive past the monster in front of him, but he was caught up by the arm and slammed back into the wall hard enough to knock the air out of him. His knees went weak, but before he could slide down the wall behind him to the floor a hand planted hard in his chest. He couldn't make out the face in full detail in front of him, his eyes had adjusted to the faint light somewhat, but not enough to make out all of the detail. His mind did the rest, picturing Adam's features moving in on him, his face so close that he could smell the cigarettes heavy on his breath. His lungs pulled in air, but barely. Either the impact against the wall was keeping his breathing shallow, or the pure terror that was filling his body, he wasn't sure at the moment.

"You know what happens now, right?" Adam's voice growled out.

Craig squeezed his eyes closed. "Jack!" He cried out, barely able to get his words out. He tried to tell himself this was one of his nightmares and any minute now Bobby would be talking to him, telling him it was okay, that he was safe, in his mother's home, and no one would hurt him again.

He could feel the hand on his chest pushing in on him, and moments later he felt another hand groping and working its way under Bobby's leather coat until it found the front of his jeans and took a hold of them. It started to snake downward.

"No!" The boy screamed out and without realizing it drew his knee up hard, making contact with the groin of the monster directly in front of him. It never occurred to him that the man wouldn't take the time for that kind of encounter, given their situation; he only knew the fears that exploded from within when that hand seemed to be moving to close.

Both hands pulled away as the monster yelled out in pain. The pain was quickly replaced with rage. "I'll make you regret that you fucking bitch!"

Craig could see the shadow in front of him, silhouetted against one of the windows, raising his fist, about to strike. "Bobby!" He screamed out, feeling like nothing more than a small, frightened child wanting his father.

The motion of another shadow caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. The motion was quick, and a loud crack sounded out, followed by the monster falling to the floor.

A hand grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him away from the wall. "Run!" Jack yelled at him, moving his hold to Craig's arm. Craig barely had time to comprehend that Jack had hit Macks across the back of the head with an object. He willed his legs to move as they retraced their previous path across the room. The blast of a gunshot echoed around them, and both seemed to duck at that same time and the bullet ricocheted off of something close by sending off sparks. Craig was ready to drop to the floor, but Jack continued pulling him, this time it seemed they were running more quickly, with more alarm in Jack's movements. Jack somehow managed to pull him close, sliding his arm around him and pushing into the lead, as if to shield him from anymore shots.

Craig was sure he could hear yelling from somewhere; "Jack!" rang out from the other side of the wall in front of them, "Craig!" More than one voice, but his ears were back to pulsing and ringing too loudly for him to identify the source.

As they closed in on the door the sound of another gunshot sucked the air out of the room, and then another, almost immediately.

The lights from the car below them filtered up the stairwell, allowing a better view of what was in front of them. Dark shadows seemed to block the light just as they were about to break free of the darkness behind them.

Craig felt a new hand grabbing his arm and giving him a hard jerk out into hall, freeing him from Jack's hold, but drawing him into a new one. He almost struggled against it until he heard the voice attached. "Get the fuck down those stairs!" Bobby sounded pissed as he gave the boy a push in the direction of the steps. "Get the hell out of here and take Angel with you!"

Jack was on his heels as they ran past Jeremiah, who was trailing Bobby through the doorway. Craig could hear another gun blast reverberate through the air as he ran down the stairs ahead of Jack. The sudden fierce light they were running into stung at his eyes. He barely realized Angel was leaning on the car hood as if he were waiting on them. Blood was seeping from a gash on the right side of his forehead, and he looked weak. The fumes from the idling engine filled the air and stung at Craig's lungs and he was sure it wasn't doing an injured Angel much good. Jack seemed to sense the same and let Angel lean on him as the three of them squeezed between the remains of the wall and the crashed Impala protruding through. Somehow Jack managed to keep his left hand holding onto Craig's right arm, and supported Angel on his other side.

The exhaust seemed to choke off the air around them, and Craig tried to hold his breath as they made their way towards the fresh air just outside the exterior wall.

As they hit the air, all three seemed to draw in a breath at the same time, coughing at the sudden relief it brought. Jack let go of the boy's arm but kept his hold on Angel.

"What the fuck?" Angel looked almost confused, letting his weight fall on Jack.

"Macks." Jack spoke with a groan, as if the weight of Angel leaning on him was more than he'd expected.

"No shit." Angel shook his head. "Where the hell is Bobby and Jerry?"

"They went after him." Jack walked Angel as quickly as he could back towards the inferno of Jeremiah's warehouse, not seeming too sure where it was they needed to go, but trying to put some distance between them and the encounter that had taken place just behind them. Bobby had said to get Angel out of there; he hadn't had the time to tell them where to take him.

Craig's legs felt like air under him, weak and shaky. He turned slightly, looking back to the hole in the wall, afraid of what was taking place on the other side. Macks had a gun. Bobby and Jeremiah weren't armed. He hadn't realized he'd come to a complete stop until he felt Jack's hand taking hold of his arm again and giving him a tug.

"Keep moving." Jack spoke to him a little louder than he needed to.

"Damn, Jackie Poo, you're turning into a real bitch, ain't ya?" Angel muttered the words.

"Damn straight." Jack muttered, but his voice seemed to soften as he pulled Craig closer to him. "I just don't want you too close to whoever might come out of that building first." He glanced down at the boy, and seemed to recognize the pure terror that he was feeling. "It's okay, he's not gonna get his hands on you again."

Craig heard the words, but as they moved closer to the burning warehouse his mind was flashing pictures in front of him. Pictures of Adam Macks looming over him, causing pain, and hurting him in ways no one should ever have to hurt. The memory of the bullet piercing his back and the beating that followed, all because he had been unfortunate enough to be born into a life controlled by a monster seemed to speed past his consciousness.

He thought about Evelyn Mercer, the woman who had become a real mother to him, and the way she had opened his eyes to what a normal life was supposed to be. Being happy had never been a concept that he could comprehend until she had opened his mind to it, and shown him it was possible, that the way of life Adam Macks had held him to was not normal, or accepted by everyone else in the world. He had believed that until he'd watched his mother being gunned down in the store.

Everything that had happened since that night seemed to suck him closer and closer to the old life that he'd managed to escape from, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was never going to be able to completely get away from it. It was always going to be hunting him down, no matter what he did, no matter what his brothers did.

The monster always came back. He always returned and he always caused pain, not just physical, but the heartache was just as intense. He couldn't stand the thought of losing anyone else in his life. He had lost two mothers, and he'd just gotten to know his brothers, really know them, and open up to the idea of being a part of them. He was sure Adam was going to rip all of that away; he always managed to take anything that was good away, and make him regret ever having the desire for it. He had watched Adam Macks kill innocent people for no reason, just to get what he wanted. He'd felt his hate pressing down on him and he had trembled under it most of his life. He was tired, and he didn't think he had the strength in him to fight against it any more. He wanted it to end but he was sure that no matter what his brothers did, Adam was going to come back, he was going to keep hammering at them, until there was nothing left to hammer at.

Some how, as his mind was lost in his fears and his memories, they had reached Sofi's V.W which was still sitting, unscathed in the parking lot of what had once been Jeremiah's dream. Craig felt Jack pushing him onto the hood of the car, to sit down. He watched, in a daze as Jack allowed Angel to lean against the car before he let go of him. He took in the sight of bricks and wood and steel littering the cracked and decaying blacktop spotted with leftover show and slush. He found his mind fascinated with the fact that the car seemed to have survived the explosions that had taken place so close with nary a scratch. He looked up at the building on the opposite side of the street, half the parking lot and a street separating them. He waited for a sign of movement, any kind of hint as to what was taking place in that building, on the second floor, where Bobby and Jeremiah had moved ahead, towards the monster.

"Shit!" Jack yelled out, as another explosion rocked the blazing building they were resting in front of.

Craig turned in time to see what looked like one of the walls flying in their direction. It seemed as if he was trapped in one long nightmare that was never going to end. He was frozen in place until Angel's hand grabbed him, and all three dove off of the car, hitting the pavement Craig had been studying only moments before. Craig felt a heavy weight slam down on top of him.

The sound of metal crunching, and bricks pounding the pavement around him seemed to last forever. Craig felt the weight on top of him shift and then heard Angel's voice directly above him. "Aw shit. How the hell am I supposed to explain that one to her?"


	52. Chapter 52

Let me know what you think.

Don't own, make no money....

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**Chapter 52: The Eyes Have It**

Bobby looked up at Angel as they walked past Sofi's car. "You wanna wait here? I gotta go find Jack and Craig, I told them to keep out of sight." He turned his gaze to Jerry. "You know, both of you are fucking lucky."

"Lucky?" Jerry cried out, turning to look at the disaster taking place behind him. "What the hell was that with my car? You killed my car! You call that lucky? And my warehouse, man. Damn, must have been a fucking gas leak or somethin', but I didn't smell nothing, did you smell anything Angel?" He cried out the words and flinched slightly when a loud, distinct whistling sound screamed out in between the pops and crackling of the flames. Bobby figured it was best not to enlighten his brother as to his suspicions at that very moment. He managed a small laugh and shook his head.

"I don't remember smelling shit. But at this moment I don't remember wiping my ass this morning either." Angel started to lean back on Sofi's car as he fingered his aching head with a wince. The gash was on the right side of his forehead, blood drizzled downward from the open wound. "I hope to hell I still got Sofi's keys." His other hand fumbled in his pocket and withdrew the key ring which held a pink butterfly. "I'm gonna move this thing before it gets messed up, she'll kill me if anything happens to her car. She's a bitch about her baby." His words sounded slurred and slow, and as he leaned away from the support of the car he swayed on his feet.

Bobby was about to stop Angel from getting in behind the wheel of the car. He knew damn well his brother couldn't drive, he could barely walk straight. As he moved to grab hold of him and tell him he was too fucked up to handle a car, the sound of another car's engine reached him.

He turned, expecting a passing car to be slowing down and coming towards them, a Good Samaritan offering help, so to speak. What he saw was Jack pulling his brother at a fast run under the headlights of a speeding Impala. "Shit!" He forgot about Angel for the moment and started running. He watched in horror as the car picked up speed, closing in on the two younger Mercers. He was about to let out a long yell for both of them to turn, when Jack dove into Craig, sending him to the pavement and into the wall of the abandoned office building at the last possible second.

Bobby's legs picked up momentum as the car spun around, engine still revving at full speed and the tires kicking up dirt and gravel off the pavement. He watched as Jack hauled Craig's ass off the ground and into a nearby doorway, the car heading at them again, obviously out to leave nothing in its path alive. "Bobby!" Heard Jack's voice yelling his name and his mind snapped back to the day in front of the house, when Jack had been shot and was lying just out of reach while the house was ripped apart by bullets. He had yelled for his brother that day. He couldn't handle that again, a brother missing, another one fighting for his life; or worse, both of them dead. Blind rage fueled his body and he could hear himself yelling out as he closed the distance between himself and his little brothers.

They were both out of his sight now, but his mind's eye could see them huddled in the doorway, watching as the headlights bore down, bringing on the inevitable. He was watching as his little brothers were being killed and he couldn't hold in the panic or the utter devastation he felt inside. He couldn't get to them fast enough, he couldn't reach them. They were going to die and there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop it.

The Impala ripped through the doorway of the building, bringing down the front wall in a mass of rubble and dust and kept going. Bobby's mind could imagine the mangled bodies under the wheels of the car, and felt his mind reeling. He was near the broken wall, close to the opening the car had created, when he realized he wasn't alone. Jeremiah was to his left, and Angel was just behind him, to his right. He slowed down, but didn't stop. "What the fuck are you doin'?" He glanced at Angel who looked as if he could drop at any moment.

"They're our brother's too." Jeremiah was the one who answered.

Bobby had to slow to a walk as they reached the void where the doorway had been only moments before. He stepped ahead of his brothers, over large piles of bricks, into the swirling dust. "Jack!" He called out, hoping for the miracle of an answer, but there was none. He moved around the car, with Jerry and Angel behind him, the driver's door was hanging open, and there was no sign of the ass hole that had been driving the car.

He hesitated before he leaned down and checked the debris trapped on the underside; there was no sign of his brothers' mutilated bodies, and his heart constricted with hope. He looked at the hall way on the other side of the second demolished wall and slammed the car door closed. He glanced back at Angel, and in the deceptive lighting provided by the headlights dust and building exhaust the man looked as white as a ghost. "Angel, you hang back, right here. You look like shit. Come on Jerry." He turned to move towards the hall way, or what was left of it. He pushed his way over piles of crumbled wall, looking first to his left, and then to his right.

"Jack!" It was Craig's voice he heard calling out but he couldn't quite figure out where it had come from.

Jerry smacked at his arm and pointed to a stairway at the end of the hall, on their right. "Ya think?" He barely got the words out.

"No!" Craig's distinct scream, the same scream that came out when he was having a nightmare filled the building, and it was defiantly coming from above.

"Craig!" Bobby yelled out, his feet hitting the stairs before he realized he was on the move. "Craig!"

"Run!" Jack's voice seemed to echo off of every wall in the building.

"Jack!" Jerry yelled out from directly behind him.

The sound of a gunshot split the air as they neared the top landing.

"Jack!" Bobby bellowed, sure that this time he was going to find the still bodies of both his little brothers.

"Craig!" Jerry's voice mirrored Bobby's fear.

Two more shots rang out as they hit the top of the steps, and Bobby could make out the sight of his brothers, Craig in front with Jack pushing him from behind, coming towards him at the first open door he came to. Craig looked as if he were about to fall on his face. Bobby reached out and grabbed his arm, jerking him hard to free him from the room and the chance of another bullet being aimed at him. "Get the fuck down those stairs!" He yelled out as he gave the youngest Mercer a hard push in the direction he wanted him to go. He gave Jack a push as well. "Get the hell out of here and take Angel with you!"

Neither made any attempt to speak. Craig seemed to be in a trance, and Jack was staying with him, keeping him moving. It made Bobby feel a little more comfortable at letting the kid out of his sight, knowing that Jack would look after him.

Bobby stayed low, watching the retreating forms of his brothers until he was sure they were well on their way down the stairs. Jack hesitated, just as he was about to move out of view and looked back at Bobby, fear written across his face. Bobby gave him a quick nod to let him know he understood.

Bobby knew Jack was scared shitless but he'd done a damn good job at keeping himself and Craig both safe. Jack had been ready for whatever action he would have had to take to keep Jones, or Macks, or whoever the hell it was after them, from getting his hands on the kid. He knew this and he understood this, because that was how he felt. That was exactly what he was prepared to do right now, kill the son of a bitch who had nearly ran his brother's down in front of his eyes. He was ready for this to be over and done with; he was tired of the pain and the torment his family continued to be thrust into and he was damn sure going to put an end to it, that night, one way or another.

Bobby turned and his eyes focused on shadow at the other end of the abandoned room, kicking furiously at the door there. The fucker was gonna die. He glanced at Jerry for just a moment before moving into the dark shadows his brothers had just escaped from. The ass hole beating down the door on the other end of the room had a gun, and at that moment he wished like hell he had his own in his hands, though he was sure he would prefer the pleasure of killing the threat to his family with his own two bare hands.

Jeremiah followed him, both keeping their bodies low.

Bobby flinched when the gun fired once more, sending sparks flying from the door on the other side of the room. "Macks!" He yelled out as the door burst open under hard slam from the shadow, allowing for an escape route.

The form turned towards him, and the man's face came into view in a beam of light streaking across the room from the window, but only the eyes were vivid against the dark, sending an eerie chill through the eldest Mercer. The eyes were the same as the pictures Craig had drawn. They were hard and cold and evil, and they belonged to Adam Macks. The face turned away, disappearing into the shadows and retreating through the door on the other end of the room.

Bobby let out a loud yell, raising his body to a full stance as he ran after the son of a bitch. Macks had helped Sweet plan out the murder of his mother, had stolen his brother from him and messed him up both physically and emotionally, and was now taking aim on the entire Mercer family. Bobby's purpose in life at that moment was to put an end to the bullshit now and free them all from the threat.

"Bobby, you crazy son of a bitch," Jerry called out from behind him, but was following closely. Bobby could feel him there, keeping up with no hesitation.

"Where the fuck do you think you're running to Macks?" Bobby yelled out as he reached the back wall, and that door. He found himself propelling down a back staircase, the sounds of Macks' retreat echoing off the walls below him. His pulse quickened and his legs seemed to find more speed from somewhere. He surged forward into the dark pit below.

"Bobby, this is insane!" Jeremiah called out behind him.

"Shut up and stay with me!" Bobby didn't look back. He hit the bottom of the stairs, and shot forward in the dark, slamming hard into a door and bouncing back a step. He ignored the shock his body had taken and pushed on the door. He found himself in an alley way behind the building. He turned to his left, and then to his right, but there was no sign of the man he'd been chasing. "Fuck!" He yelled, finally allowing himself to stop. There seemed to be a thousand different shadows lining the dark passage on either side of them and Macks could be hiding in any one of them, watching and taking aim with that fucking gun. He could be hunkered down behind the overflowing dumpster just to their left, or the piles of trash further down. He was almost certain the man had to have turned to the left, away from them. He leaned down, bracing his hands on his knees for support and huffed at the fresh air hard. Normally he would have gone on down the alley, searching out the fucker, but he had Jerry to worry about, and three other brothers to get back to.

"Where'd the fuck he go?" Jerry stopped next to him, his breathing just as strained as Bobby's.

"Hell if I know Jerry. He's some kind of fucking phantom I guess." Bobby stood up and turned to look back at the door he'd just spilled through. "There wasn't any other direction for him to go." He shook his head. "We didn't miss anything, did we?" He was wondering if there had been another hallway at the bottom of the stairs, or another door inside that the man could have ducked into.

"I don't think so, that stairway was pretty tight." Jerry gave him a smack on the back. "Come on, man, let's go make sure he ain't heading back the other way."

Bobby looked at Jerry and let the meaning of his words sink in. Angel was hurt; he wasn't going to be much help if Mack's chased them down, though he knew he would do his best. As for Jack and Craig; well hell, Jack would do his best, and he'd done a damn good job up until now, but he was no match for Macks, not with the man carrying a gun, and Craig was already too fucking scared of the man to try to fight him. He'd melt on the spot and let the ass hole drag him off, Bobby knew that. Craig was fourteen, and he was young, and vulnerable, more so now after all of the shit that had been dumped on him.

Bobby felt the air coming a little easier and nodded his head. He looked down the alley to see where it might empty out. They started walking towards the corner of the building, where the cross street came into view.

They had rounded the corner to face the remains of the warehouse blazing ahead of them. In the parking lot, gathered at Sofi's car, were his three brothers. Bobby felt relief and was about to call out to them when an explosion rocked the entire block. It seemed the front of the warehouse blew apart, sending large sections of the wall flying in all directions. He could see his brothers diving for the ground.

"Shit." Jerry cried out.

Bobby and Jerry both pulled up, and stopped for a split second while they watched a section of wall drop on Sofi's car, as if it had been aiming for it.

Bobby looked at Jerry, who was holding in a grin. "Well, I wonder how she's gonna take this?" Bobby gave into the need to lighten the mood around them.

Jerry looked at him and let his laugh break free. "Well, I'm glad I ain't the one who's gotta tell her."

Both men started moving forward, keeping their pace at a trot. Bobby took in their surroundings, certain there was no more threat in the immediate area. The faint sounds of sirens reached his ears and he was thankful. Macks wouldn't come back with fire crews and police on the scene.

"Aw shit. How the hell am I supposed to explain that one to her?" Angel was rising up to examine the remains of Sofi's car.

"Tell her Bobby did it." Jerry's tone came out flat. "That's what I'm telling Camille." He shot Bobby a look and moved to help Angel stand.

Bobby leaned down to grab hold of Craig, who seemed to be staring at Sofi's car, but still looked dazed and confused. He pulled him from the cold ground and up to his feet. The fourteen year old seemed to latch onto him instantly, his arms hooking around his neck and locking there.

Bobby watched as Jerry moved to help Jack to his feet.

"You both okay? You still got all your fingers and toes?" Bobby spoke loud, giving Craig a hard squeeze to let him know he had him, and that he was safe.

"It was him." Craig cried out with no warning. "It was him."

"I know." Bobby kept his hold tight on the boy and looked at Jerry. "Your buddy Jones ain't no fucking warehouse worker, or whatever the hell he told you he was." He drew in a deep breath and kept his hold on the boy. "That was Adam Macks, and he got too fucking close, too fucking easy."

"Macks?" Angel was swaying on his feet.

"Macks." Jack spoke up. "He ain't dead." He looked at Bobby, and the boy clinging to him. "He's out to get ahold of him, and he won't stop even if it means coming after us. You know that, don't you?"

Bobby nodded his head. "Well, I guess it's time for us to go after him then, ain't it?"

Craig seemed to shrink in the man's hold.

"We're gonna get him Craig, and I'm goin to make sure he's dead this time. I promise you that." Bobby lowered his head close to Craig's ear as he spoke. "You hear me?"

Jerry opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but sirens were drawing closer, and Angel seemed to tilt slightly to one side. He moved to catch Angel and help him to the ground before he fell and hit his head again. By the time he had Angel sitting in a pile of snow the fire trucks were coming into sight, the blaring of the sirens seemed to swell in the air around them. He turned and looked at Bobby as if he had something he wanted to say.

Bobby gave Jerry a hard stare, daring him to try to argue with him about Macks, or about Jones. He had yet to pass on the news about Green, or the reporter he'd talked to. He was sure once he did Jerry would accept the idea that his building had been blown to hell on purpose and that it wasn't some fucking gas leak. Jack moved in a little closer as the fire trucks and police cruisers rolled passed them to take control of the parking lot.

Jerry shook his head slowly, apparently not wanting to discuss the issue any further, at least not until they had talked to the cops that were heading their way, and they had all been checked out by medics.

Bobby watched as the whole block filled with activity. He answered questions thrown at him by a police officer and by the fire chief on the scene. He watched as paramedics loaded Angel into the back of one ambulance and other medics checked Jack and Jerry quickly at the back of another unit. He turned in all directions to take in what looked like mass confusion buzzing around him, and let Craig hold onto him for a long while, keeping his own embrace on the boy tight. He had no concept of time for the moment, but he was getting tired, his legs were aching and now that the massive adrenaline rush was over he felt exhaustion taking over.

When one of the medics said something about checking both him and Craig for injuries Bobby felt the boy stiffen in his arms. He told the man they were fine. He asked one of the police officers if he could sit with Craig in the back of one of their cruisers in order to get him out of the cold. The officer walked him over to a car and opened the door. He wasn't all too thrilled with voluntarily placing himself in the back of a police car. He felt a shiver run through him at the memory of walking into the police station under his own accord earlier that evening. He was starting to see a pattern that he was certain he had to break very soon.

Jack walked over just as Bobby was squeezing into the back of the cruiser, pulling Craig in awkwardly with him. He couldn't seem to pry the boy's arms away from his neck enough to maneuver him easily inside.

"I was going to call Camille and Sofi, but my phone was in Jerry's car." Jack gave him a look, as if it was his fault his phone had been lost.

Bobby stared at him for a long moment. "Well use Angel's phone." He spoke with little patience.

"Well I would, but apparently it's broken into little pieces." Jack held his hand out to reveal the chunks of plastic that had once been Angel's phone.

"What the hell am I supposed to do about it? Use Jerry's fucking phone." Bobby cried out.

"The battery is dead." Jack's voice picked up in volume.

"Then tell the cops that we need someone to call family or something." Bobby scowled at the idea that he had just referred to Sofi as family.

Jack let out a huff and looked at the back of Craig's head. "How is he doing?" He asked quietly.

"He's scared shitless." Bobby answered and drew in a deep breath as Jack turn to walk off and find someone to ask about contacting some family members. "Jack." He called out.

Jack turned and looked at Bobby. "What?" Apparently he was expecting one of Bobby's snide remarks, by the look on his face.

"You did good man. I'm proud of you." Bobby nodded his head.

Jacks' face went blank for a short moment, and then his eyes softened. He barely smiled as he licked at his lips. "Thanks, Bobby. That means a lot, you know?" He kept his voice quiet.

Bobby was sure he could see tears gathering in the younger man's eyes. "Now don't you go fucking crying on me, fairy." He hardened his voice, but he smiled. "What are you, my little sister?"

Jack shook his head slowly. "Always gotta be a hard ass." He turned and walked away. "Ass hole," He added just loud enough for Bobby to hear.

Now, Bobby just had to get the kid attached to him to let go, somehow.


	53. Chapter 53

Let me know what you think :)

Legal Stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 53: Bobby Did It?**

Craig kept his hold on Bobby tight. His mind seemed to be caught up in the memories of all the times Adam Macks had been wiped out of his life only to return more vicious and cruel than before. Adam removed obstacles in his path, it didn't matter if those obstacles were human beings; if they were in his way he got rid of them. He had little regard for human life. As far as Adam was concerned, the Mercers were an obstacle, and he had made an attempt to rid himself of them, it wouldn't end there, he would keep coming back until he accomplished what he wanted.

Bobby let him hang on, and held onto him. He felt safe, for the moment, but he found himself looking up from Bobby's shoulder, checking the people drifting around them, making sure none of them was the monster he feared so strongly. He would watch them for a while, and then his mind would rewind back into the memories of his day. He replayed them, over and over, first his statement with Porter, and then the encounter with the monster right there at the warehouse. The waiting outside of the police station, only to find out that Green had been shot, and the wild ride Bobby had taken them on after talking to the reporter.

Bits and pieces of what was going on around him made it through to his brain. He heard someone asking Bobby about checking him over to make sure he hadn't been hurt, and he was sure his brother was going to make him get into the back of an ambulance to be poked at and touched by total strangers, and he couldn't stand the thought of that happening. He tightened his hold until he heard Bobby saying they were fine. He gritted his teeth when Bobby decided they needed to get into the back of a police car. He didn't want to sit, but he didn't to wait there while so many people walked past him, looking at him as if he were some kind of a freak clinging to his big brother. He'd been sure then that Bobby would pry his vice-like hold away and peel him back enough to push him into the car.

Some how he had ended up sitting on Bobby's lap, his arms still hooked around his neck, inside the back of the cruiser, and Bobby let him stay that way, squeezing on him from time to time as if to let him know he was still there. Jack came over and talked about the phones, and Craig heard him, but his mind was well on it's way to pulling in on its self. Time passed slowly, or it seemed to. He couldn't seem to focus, or get his mind into the same time zone as the rest of the world around him. It spun back in time to different points in his life that he wanted to forget.

"You know, I remember the day Ma brought you home." Bobby spoke with no warning, his voice was quiet, but it seemed to drown out the hum of activity outside the car.

"You were so fucking little, and you looked scared, and jumpy." Bobby drew in a deep breath. "I didn't understand why Ma brought you home, I really didn't. Hell, you was little, the little ones are usually easy to place in permanent homes. You were on the border line, but you was small for you age, and she shouldn't have had a problem finding someone to take you and love on you and give you a good life."

Craig found his attention drawn to Bobby's words. He turned his head a little, towards the man's voice.

"I was so fucking scared of you though." Bobby laughed quietly. "Hell, I'm a fucking bad influence for little kids. I made it my life's goal to be a bad influence. Jerry, Angel and Jackie, hell, I didn't have to worry about screwin' them up, they came that way, just like me, but you…." Bobby looked down at him. "You were different, and I didn't want to fuck you up. I had no idea why Ma seemed to think you needed to be a Mercer. I really didn't, and I argued with her, and I know you heard a lot of the talk, but it wasn't that I didn't like you, or love you; I just didn't know what the fuck I was supposed to do with you."

Craig thought he seen something behind Bobby's frown, but couldn't quite figure out what it was. Regret? He didn't think that was it. Bobby rarely regretted anything he did, even when he probably should.

"I think Ma brought you home because she knew I needed you." Bobby finally gave his head a slight nod. "You know I'm no fucking saint. You know I've done shit." Bobby lifted his gaze to concentrate on the back side of the front seat. "When she brought you home, I had to do something to help out. You know? I couldn't let her take on another kid by herself. She already had four of us delinquents running amuck, and she was taking on you too? Not that you were any trouble, hell, you was the best behaved kid around. You never really asked for shit. You were happy with what you had, and that was fucking scary. You needed clothes and you needed to eat, and you needed shit for school, and shoes on your feet." He shook his head slowly. "All she ever told me was to be your big brother and play with you a little bit, and she'd take care of the rest. I tried, I really did, but what the hell do I say to a seven year old? I'd look at you and I'd start feeling all fucking responsible and couldn't stop thinking about all the shit you needed to grow up better than we did."

Craig was soaking in the words, not sure why Bobby was saying them, but allowing his brain to process them and mix them around with the memories of his first years in the Mercer home.

"I needed that." Bobby looked at him again. "You know, if you hadn't been around, I probably would be doin' a life sentence in prison right now. You made me grow up, well, as much as I can grow up. I don't plan on being all grown up until I'm fuckin' dead. I mean what's the fun in that?"

Craig felt his nerves starting to relax.

"But I had to earn some money, and that meant I had to do some honest work on the side, and that lead to me not being around for real heavy shit a few times. Shit that would have sent me away for a very long time." He stared at Craig for a long moment. "I think she knew that son of a bitch would come back too, and that we would have to stop him. I really think that. I get what she was doing now. She wanted you to have a fucking normal life, and she wanted us to keep you safe. That's what family does, and if tonight didn't prove that to you then nothing will." He nodded towards the window behind Craig. "We watch out for each other because we're brothers, and you're one of us, so you ain't gotta be scared of that fucker. We know about him, and we're gonna get rid of him once and for all. You hear me?"

Craig allowed his arms to fall away from Bobby, and he slid down onto the seat on his right side in order to look through the window in the direction Bobby was looking. Jack and Jerry were standing next to the back end of an ambulance, where a medic was bandaging Angel's head.

"You wanna go check on Angel?" Bobby asked.

Craig looked around at the firemen moving back and forth around them, and the fear of getting out of the safety of the police cruiser gripped at him. He didn't want them to look at him; the fear of strangers being able to look and see what had happened to him was still strong.

"Craig, no one is going to bother you, your brothers won't let them, okay?" Bobby spoke quietly. "We need to check on Angel. That's what brothers do, right?"

Craig nodded his head slowly. "Okay." He managed to force the one small word out.

"Good boy." Bobby gave him a quick hug. "You just stay close to me. I'll hang onto you." He reached for the door.

Craig grabbed Bobby's hand before he had a chance to pull on the handle that would free the door.

"What?" Bobby looked at him.

"You were scared of me?" Craig barely managed to break the question free of his mind.

Bobby nodded his head. "Scared shitless," He looked serious.

"I was scared of you." Craig muttered, almost ashamed to admit it.

"Yeah, that was my goal. Keep you too scared to get near me so you wouldn't turn out like me. It worked huh?" Bobby's eyebrows rose slightly.

"But I'm not scared of you now." Craig admitted.

"Hell, I ain't scared of you no more either, so that's a pretty damn big step ain't it?" Bobby grinned at him.

Craig wanted to grin back, but he couldn't do it, not at that moment.

Bobby opened the door and got out, reaching in to grab Craig's arm and help him out of the car. Craig's muscles stiffened as two firemen, faces coated in ash and black soot walked past them. They looked tired, and hot, even in the freezing air. Bobby slid his arm around him while he slammed the door of the police cruiser closed. "See, they kept walking." He glanced at the backs of the retreating men before guiding Craig over to the back end of the ambulance. The medic was called away from Angel to check one of the firefighters just as they approached what appeared to be the beginning of an argument between Jerry and the injured Mercer in back of the ambulance.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Jerry spoke loud as he held four fingers up in front of Angel's face.

"Fifteen," Angel's tone was flat, as if he were growing tired of whatever they were discussing.

"You fool, no one has fifteen fingers. You ain't goin' home; you're goin' to the hospital and getting your head x-rayed." Jerry cried out.

"I'm fine. I ain't seein' double anymore, and I don't feel dizzy." Angel gave Jerry an angry glare. "You don't think I know you don't have fifteen fingers?" He scowled at the man and shook his head.

"I agree with Jerry, we need to get your head examined." Bobby called out as he pulled Craig closer to him. "They're gonna tell us the same shit they told us the last time through, still nothing in that thick skull of yours." He allowed himself to laugh at his own joke, but was met by a cold stare from Angel.

"I'm fine, I don't need no hospital. I'll go to the clinic in the morning." Angel let his words draw out. "Did anyone ever get a hold of Sofi?" He looked at Jack.

"I couldn't get a phone." Jack shook his head. "But there was one cop that was gonna radio in for someone to call her, and Camille. "He glanced at Jerry. "They should be on their way."

Angel's face distorted as if he were in pain. "Damn." He glanced over towards the remains of Sofi's car buried in the rubble from the last explosion.

"Don't worry, how can she blame you for that?" Bobby spoke up quickly. "You didn't know it was gonna happen."

Angel looked at Bobby. "Yes I did know." He countered. "I wanted to move the car, remember Bobby? Someone wouldn't let me move it, you recall that at all?" His voice came out tight.

"How the hell could we know that a piece of the fucking wall was gonna go flying through the air and flatten the thing?" Bobby cried out. "You could barely walk straight; you really think you needed to be behind the wheel of a car? Granted it was a fucking pussy car, but it was a car."

"Yeah, Angel, how were you supposed to know it would end up splattered like a fucking bug all over the pavement? Oh, yeah, it was a V.W., wasn't it? Was it a bug?" Jack grinned wide and looked from Bobby to Angel.

Both men looked at him with hard stares and the grin faded quickly. "It was a joke, come on; you guys got it, didn't you?" Jack looked from Jerry to Craig.

"Fuck you Jackie, it was not funny." Angel spoke quickly.

A loud crashing noise sounded out from across the street, causing Craig to flinch. Bobby pulled him a little closer without looking down.

All heads seemed to turn towards the building that had nearly been a death trap for Jack and Craig. A tow truck was pulling the wrecked Impala from the broken walls, tearing away fresh bricks.

"Fuck!" Bobby cried out with no warning, again causing Craig to flinch.

"What the hell is your problem now?" Jerry asked as he tore his eyes away from the scene playing out across the street and looked at Bobby.

"Why the hell didn't we think to go through that fucking car before anyone showed up to drag it off?" Bobby kept his voice quiet and moved closer to his brothers, pulling Craig along with him.

They all seemed to tighten the circle they had formed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jerry looked confused.

"I'm talking about that fucking car. We should have thought to go through it. We ain't got the slightest idea where to find the fucker, and his car is sitting right there across the street. There might be something inside that could help us track him down." Bobby sounded pissed, and again Craig thought he heard regret in his voice.

"You mean, like mail, or bills, or something like that?" Angel spoke casually.

"Yeah, something, a fucking gas receipt so we would know what area of the city he's been in at least." Jack nodded with comprehension.

"Yeah; something like that." Bobby spoke quietly.

"Damn, my head must not have been hit quite as hard as you all think." Angel spoke calmly and reached for his shirt pocket," Because I was the only one with enough sense about me to check the fucking car." He pulled out what appeared to be folded envelopes that had been concealed there. "Now, let me repeat myself, I ain't goin' to no fucking hospital, you all can't make me." He tucked the envelopes back into his pocket and flashed Bobby a cocky smile

"The hell you aren't going to the hospital!" The Spanish accent drifted around them at a high level, but the origin was unclear to anyone.

Angel's face dropped when Sofi came around the opened rear door on the left side of the ambulance, squeezing past Jack and making her way up into the squad, to sit next to him. "Oh, Baby, are you okay?" She asked quickly, but planted a kiss on his lips before Angel had a chance to answer.

Camille trailed Sofi, and went directly to Jerry's side. "Baby, what happened? Are you alright?" She asked softly.

Jerry welcomed his wife's embrace, while Angel smiled at Sofi as soon as their lips parted, but he looked tense and nervous.

"What happened?" Sofi repeated Camille's question as she looked at the bandage on Angel's forehead.

"Bobby, I thought you took Jack and Craig home. What are you doing here? Did they call you before they called us?" Camille looked at Bobby as she held onto Jeremiah's arm, rubbing her hand in circles on his back.

"Not exactly," Bobby muttered.

"Well, where's the car? We were told you needed a ride, but if Bobby is here with the car, then…"Camille looked from one Mercer to another, including Jerry, before she turned her attention to the parking lot, and her gaze fell on Sofi's car. "Oh shit." She muttered.

"Now baby, language," Jerry followed her gaze. "Uh, now don't…"

"Sofi, your car," Camille spoke quietly.

Sofi pulled her attention away from Angel, her eyes focusing on Camille for a short moment before looking in the same direction.

Sofi's eyes grew into large brown saucers, and Spanish rolled off of her lips too quickly for even Angel to keep up with it.

"I did try to move it baby." Angel spoke quickly. Sofi seemed to forget about him for the moment, climbing down out of the ambulance and stepping a few feet towards her car, the words still rolling off her lips. "Bobby did it." Angel cried out at the end of a very extensive string of cursing. At least Craig was pretty sure it was cursing, despite the fact that he couldn't speak Spanish.

"Bullshit!" Bobby cried out. "A piece of the fucking wall blew up and fell on the thing, it's not like I had any control over that!"

"Bobby, you are a walking disaster!" Sofi turned to him, her eyes shooting pure rage in his direction.

"I did not do this." Bobby shook his head and flashed a threatening glare at Angel.

Camille joined Sofi's side. "Okay, so where is Jeremiah's car? I don't see that anywhere around here." She looked concerned, but sounded relatively calm.

"Well, baby, that's a long story." Jerry spoke up.

"Was I talking to you?" Camille turned and looked at her husband. Apparently she was satisfied that he was in good health and was finished worrying about him.

Jerry grimaced at the tone of Camille's voice and looked at Bobby. "You want me to take Craig? We don't' want him to get stuck in the middle of this." He shook his head.

Bobby sighed. "Look, when we showed up here the place was blowing up; I had to get you guys out." He looked past the women and concentrated on Jerry and Angel.

"Where is the car?" Sofi spoke quickly, her hand resting on Camille's shoulder.

"Yeah, Bobby, where is the car?" Camille repeated the words.

Bobby looked at Sofi, "You know you are a bad influence on Camille. Before she got to know you so fucking well she was actually a nice person." He seemed to be trying to change the direction of the conversation.

"That's not gonna work Bobby." Camille crossed her arms in front of her.

Bobby started to speak, but the fire chief stepped up into their little circle and looked at the Mercer men, as if he wanted to say something to them.

Sofi and Camille both turned to him, and Sofi started asking him about her car, wanting to know how the building could have exploded with such a force that the wall could land on her car. Her words were a mixture with Spanish and English splitting the air with an irritating, shrill pitch.

The Chief listened for a long moment, but then shook his head slowly while the words were still flowing. He finally waved his hand in the air in front of her to stop her endless banter. "Ma-am, the initial explosion did not damage your car. We believe that the secondary explosion, the one caused by the gas tank of the vehicle inside the building, is the one that caused the outward explosion that destroyed that particular wall."

Craig's mind pieced together the meaning of the man's words. The Volvo blew up and that's what sent the chunk of wall soaring through the air and destroying Sofi's V.W.

His mind was still processing the information when Jack looked over, a wide smile on his face. "So," Jack looked directly at Bobby, "You did do it?" He obvoiusly didn't intend to focus Sofi or Camille's rage back to Bobby, but somehow, that's exactly what happened. Bobby pulled Craig to stand in front of him. as the women stepped closer….


	54. Chapter 54

Sorry for the delay... Let me know what you think :)

Still don't own, still make no money.

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**Chapter 54: Spit Shine**

Bobby's survival instincts kicked in, and while he knew the women in front of him were about to draw blood, he pulled the only thing in between him and them that could stop their advance. "Do you ladies really want to do this right now?" He asked as he dragged Craig to stand in front of him, but he dropped his arms around him in a protective stance, holding him close.

"How can you destroy two cars in one night Bobby?" Camille cried out. "I mean, really, how?" She was still focused on Bobby.

Sofi nodded her head in a quick motion. "If it involves fire, you can count on Bobby to be close by." She cried out.

"I did not do this." Bobby's put more tension in his voice as he pointed to the burning building. "I had to get Jerry and Angel out of there, they were trapped inside and there was no way for them to get out. I'm sorry about the car, but I got them out. Ain't they just a little more important than a car?" He concentrated on Sofi for a moment. "Oh, yeah, I did it on purpose because I knew that the fucker would blow and drop an entire wall on you little 'Tonka Toy' over there. Explain how I managed to do that you crazy, loco senorita." He spoke sarcastically and pointed to the remains of Sofi's V.W.

Both women silenced for a long moment. That was when Camille looked at Craig and the anger seemed to melt from her. "Oh baby, look at you," She stepped forward and pulled Craig from Bobby's arms, giving him a motherly hug before pulling back and wiping at the dirt smudges on his face with her fingers. "You okay? You must have been scared out of your mind, watching all of this." She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and started licking it before holding it up to be used to clean the dust away from the boy's features.

"Bobby," Craig tried to pull back, but Sofi joined in, brushing at some of the dirt that had gathered on the leather coat, and talking quietly to him.

Craig turned and looked at him, and at first he seemed to be begging him with his eyes to make them stop. When Bobby smiled at him, he was sure the look changed to one promising a threat. "Yeah, you ladies take care of him for a minute." Bobby spoke quickly, taking advantage of Craig's situation to get some business taken care of. He'd have to make it up to the kid later. The fire chief was still looking at them, and though he appeared a bit dazed by his encounter with the women, it seemed as if there was something he wanted to say.

Bobby stepped over to the man, glancing back for just a second to see Camille and Sofi pulling Craig to the rear of the ambulance to sit him down on the bumper there.

Angel managed to climb down from his perch in the back of the ambulance, and join Jerry and Jack at Bobby's side. "You wanted to tell us something?" Bobby spoke to the Fire Chief.

"Yes, I did." The man shook his head slightly as if to clear his brain.

"Yeah, they have that effect on people." Jack glanced back at the women for a second before turning back to the man in front of them.

"We are going to have to do a thorough investigation on the cause of this fire. We're certain it's arson, but we need to find the source of the explosions." The Chief spoke carefully. "Was there anyone else in the building that you were aware of?" He studied all four faces in front of him.

"No, just the two of us," Jerry pointed to himself and Angel.

The fire chief sighed. "We located a body, badly burned." He informed. "So it is possible the arsonist didn't make it out alive."

"At least one of them didn't make it out alive." Bobby muttered to himself and felt a hint of satisfaction stab at him. He turned and looked at the car across the street, still hooked to the back end of the tow truck. There were police officers walking around it. Macks may have gotten away, but his car and his partner, whoever it may have been, were both left behind.

The wheels in his brain were turning, thinking as much like a street thug as he could manage to at that moment. It was hard to fall into that mind set with Jack standing right next to him. He sighed and looked at the man. "Can we go now? Do we need to stay for anything else?" He pointed to Angel. "His head is messed up and we've all had one hell of a night."

The firefighter shook his head and went into a long speech about how they could go, but the whole block seemed to be a crime scene and none of them should try to return any time soon, until after the Fire Marshal had cleared it after his investigation, and the police had finished with it on their end. He directed them to check with the police officer in charge of the scene before actually leaving. He finally turned and walked away, leaving the four brothers to discuss what they needed to do next.

"We need to get a hold of Green." Angel spoke up, looking at Bobby.

"Gonna be hard to do. Green was shot today." Jack gave Angel and Jeremiah a serious look.

"Shot," Jerry looked confused for a moment. "Is he….?" He looked scared. Bobby couldn't believe that except for the desperate final prayer his brother had been offering up when he'd reached him in the burning warehouse, this was the only time his brother had really looked scared that entire night.

"It didn't kill him outright, but we don't know. He was in the hospital." Bobby shook his head. "I was gonna have Green run a check on your buddy Jones, that's how we found out. We also found out Green was contacted by a reporter who knew more about the Jordan case than he should have. We tracked him down and he told gave me Jones' name. Were lucky he didn't run the story. He called Green instead. Whether you believe it or not, Jones is Macks, and we need to go after the fucker before he comes after us, again. He did this and he's gonna keep coming." Bobby looked at Jack as he echoed the same words his younger brother had spoken just a short time before.

Angel looked over to where Sofi and Camille were still making over Craig. Bobby looked at the scene as well. The kid looked miserable, trying to duck from the spit soaked tissues Camille continued to wipe at him with.

"They found a body in that pond." Angel looked over at Bobby. "How the hell could the man still be walking and talking? He's some kind of fucking ghost?"

"No, he just got fucking lucky. We all knew there was something off, with that mystery phone call that Jack got, we all knew." Bobby met his brother's stare full on. "Now we need to get lucky. He's a man, just like us, and he's made of flesh and blood, and he can die. He will die. Now, let me see what the fuck you pulled out of that car, jar-head." He held his hand out towards Angel.

Angel relinquished the papers quickly and handed them over. Bobby started unfolding them while his brothers moved in closer to look with him. "Bill receipts," Bobby muttered as soon as he seen the names of the utilities companies each envelope held. He opened the envelope for the cable company and pulled out the receipt, staring at the name of the account holder, stuck in a moment of surprise that quickly churned around in his head, morphing into anger.

"Look at who they belong to." Jack reached out and pointed to the name. "Bradley Jordan."

Jordan. Bobby felt his insides twisting. "Looks like Jordan found himself a sugar daddy. Paying his bills and everything," He shoved the papers deep into his coat pocket. "He's at Jordan's house." His jaw set tight on him. "He has to be."

Angel stared at him. "Well let's go get him then, before he comes back for round two." He looked anxious.

"You are going to the fucking hospital and getting that head of yours checked." Bobby met Angel's gaze. He needed Angel and Jerry to get close to Green, and Angel needing to get his head checked was as good a reason to get them close to him that late in the evening.

"The hell I am, I'm going with you on this." Angel was quick to argue.

"You need to get that head checked little brother, or you ain't gonna be worth shit to me." Bobby shook his head. "We ain't goin' after him tonight. We got the kid to think about. He ain't gonna be around for this. Don't you worry, you'll be there when this son of a bitch bites it, but I need you with your head in one piece."

"You do look like shit Angel." Jack spoke up.

"Just what do you have in mind Bobby? You know we can go to the cops with this." Jerry spoke quietly. "Green might be out of the picture, but if Macks shot him, then the cops are gonna want to get him just as bad as we do."

"The hell they are. Have you noticed anything about Macks? He keeps himself removed from the shit he does most of the time. He has other people doing his dirty work and taking the fall for it. He didn't shoot Green himself, he had someone else do that for him." Bobby looked at Jerry. "I ain't gonna talk about this right here. We need to let them to haul Angel off to the head doctor and Craig needs to go home."

Bobby listened to Angel arguing for just a short time before cutting off in mid sentence. "Look, you go to the hospital, you get yourself checked over, and then you and Jerry check on Green. If he's got enough sense about him, you can talk to him and maybe find out what the fuck happened. We need to find out. Macks didn't pull no fucking trigger and shoot Green, he had someone else do it, and maybe that someone else is the charbroiled long pork they're dragging out of that warehouse, but I doubt it."

"They ain't gonna let us see Green, man, it's late." Angel countered.

"Did I say to ask for permission?" Bobby cried out. "You track him down in there and find out what you can. You can probably get Sarah to help you out with that. She knows you both." He fought off the temptation to change his line of thinking and go along with them as he thought about the cute nurse that had helped tend to Jack when he was in the hospital. "Jerry, you ride with Angel in the ambulance. Sofi and Camille can drop us off at the house, and then meet you guys at the hospital."

"You're goin' to the house? For all you know that fucker is already there, waiting for you." Jerry cried out. "You don't know that he didn't head straight there. What's stopping him?"

"I'm pretty damn sure he didn't." Bobby couldn't explain it to his brothers at that moment, but he was sure there was someplace else that Macks would go. He would need someone to pick him up off the street before the cops spotted him, and he was sure he wouldn't have them drop them off at the Mercer house or involve them in making direct contact with them. He just had that feeling. All three of his brothers were giving him that look. That look that seemed to come when they thought he was losing his fucking mind. "But don't worry, I'll check out the house first to be sure." He cried out. "Now let's get shit taken care of so we can get the hell out of here."

Jeremiah looked up at Angel just as Bobby turned away from them and walked back towards where the women were still dusting and wiping at the youngest Mercer. He was surprised by the way Craig's eyes narrowed as he stepped into his range of sight. He was sure he'd have to make it up to him later, but he'd gotten what he needed; a chance to talk to his three older brothers out of the kid's earshot, and get a plan started in his brain. It also got the Camille and Sofi out of his way for a few minutes. He flashed a smile at the boy and reached out. "You look like you got a good spit-shine." He tried to joke, but Craig's jaw set.

"Yeah, I did." He spoke quietly, his voice came out tight.

Bobby grinned, amused by the fact that his little brother seemed to have recovered from the state he'd been falling into before their talk in the back of the cop's cruiser. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing, but he coudn't help but wonder how long it would last.

Kids seemed to be able to snap back from the shit the world threw at them easier than adults. But he knew, deep down that it wasn't going to last forever. The kid felt comfortable with Camille and Sofi. He knew Camille well, and he'd been getting used to Sofi being around. Whether he'd ever admit it or not, he was soaking in the motherly attention, he'd been missing it. Concentrating on ducking the spit soaked tissues coming at him in Camille's hand was a distraction for the moment and nothing more.

It wouldn't be long and he'd fall back into what was becoming a normal state of mind, being afraid and confused and finding simple things hard to deal with. He understood the anger the kid had to let loose from time to time too. Hell, he had dealt with shit the same way his whole life, getting pissed and fighting back. The problem was Craig kept the anger buried inside and it would build until it finally blew up in his face. He got pissed and didn't know what to do with it. That would change with time; he just had to make sure Craig learned how to fight back the right way. He wasn't gonna let him make the same mistakes he had made when he was young and had no one to show him what to do with all that anger building inside of him.

"Can we go now?" Craig ducked from another attempt at Camille to brush her hand through his hair.

"We need to talk to this cop over here and then, yeah; I think we'll be able to leave. You gonna come with me or would you rather stay here and spend some more quality time with the mother hens?" Bobby held his hand out towards him.

"That ain't funny Bobby." Camille called out as Craig moved towards him with no hesitation.

"What the hell do you expect me to say? You're trying to rub spit all over his face." Bobby pulled the boy close and walked him towards the cop.

Jack caught up to him while Angel and Jerry stopped next to Camille and Sofi, talking to them quietly. He hoped they were explaining to them what the four of them had decided their first step should be.

Bobby was surprised that the officer he spoke with dismissed him quickly, only telling him to be sure they were all available if they needed to answer any more questions. He kept looking at Craig as he spoke, so Bobby chalked up their quick license to leave to the kid.

* * *

Macks stood in the alley, watching the scene taking place in front of him. The fire trucks, the police cars and the emergency squads seemed to fill up the entire block. In the uneven flashes of red and blue lights he could see the forms of the Mercers, talking to firemen and cops as if they were best friends with them all. He felt a growl forming in his throat, but held it in. He had circled around to the other side of the block in order to watch and keep an eye on the situation, hoping for a chance to make another move.

"I told you not to go after the kid. You tipped your hand. You had an advantage, they didn't know who the hell was behind the fire, and they would have identified Winston's body and blamed him. But you had to go a fucking ruin everything, didn't you?" Jones spoke to him with disdain. "You fucking idiot."

"Shut the hell up." Macks spat the words out angrily. "You were no help on this job. You just sat back and watched."

"You wouldn't let me do my job. I had everything under control and you went and fucked it up. Why the hell am I even here?" Jones shot back.

"You're here to do what the hell I say, and nothing more." Macks looked to his left, expecting to see Jones standing in the shadows alongside of him, but there was nothing there but another brick wall of another building. He returned his angry stare to the increasing activity across the street. He watched as the Mercers talked to the firemen and the police. He felt his rage boiling as he took it all in. He needed to know what they were telling the emergency responders. Were they being the pussies he expected and telling the cops all about how a dead man set the fire, or were they going to let the official story be that Winston lost his fucking mind and went after them for revenge, the way he had planned it out to take place?

"You didn't plan out shit. It was my plan and you fucked it up." Jones ridiculed him.

"Shut the fuck up, before I get rid of your ass the way I got rid of Winston." Macks hissed under his breath.

"You used to scare me with those threats Macks. You used to scare me good with them, but I have come to the realization that you need me. You can't function without me." Jones laughed as he spoke.

Macks tried to ignore the words. He tried to concentrate on the activity that was building across the way. He needed to get the hell out of there. He needed to get off the streets and stay low for a few hours, until the Mercers felt comfortable enough to think they were safe. He needed just a little time. He pulled his disposable cell phone out of his pocket and called the only person he knew that could get him out of that particular spot at that moment.

Higgins answered his phone sounding pissed.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Macks bit back at his anger. He didn't need to piss Higgins off at the moment. He needed the ride.

"Have you seen the news? You drew plenty enough attention to yourself, torching Mercer's warehouse the way you did. It's all over the news television." Higgins kept his voice quiet, as if there were people around him and he didn't want his conversation heard.

"There are no news crews here." Macks countered.

"In the air, you ass hole, look up." Higgins hissed over the phone.

Macks looked up at the black sky, barely visible through the smoke filling the air. Sure enough, there was a helicopter circling the area from above. Not close enough to pick up people in detail on the ground, but close enough to get an aerial view of the fire. He continued to eye the lights from the helicopter. "So, what makes you think I had anything to do with a fucking fire?" He asked while a smile lit up his face. Hell, this was perfect. His work was making the nightly news.

"I'm no idiot." Higgins' voice held a flat texture to it. "What the hell is wrong with you? Which of the Mercers died in there? They pulled out a body you know?"

"None of them died in there. My bet would be that the person who set the building to blow died in there." Macks laughed. "I need a ride." He let his attention fall away from the air and back to the circle of men, the Mercers, and the fire and police officials that were gathered with them.

"You need a ride?" Higgins asked.

"Yes, I need a ride. Come and pick me up." Macks allowed his short lived good mood to die.

"Where are you?" Higgins asked, though he didn't sound very happy about the idea.

Macks smiled as he thought about the best way to answer. "I'll meet you." He finally sighed, feeling it was better if he didn't let Higgins know he was near the fire. He rattled off a street address and hung up the phone. He'd almost used up the measly few minutes that came with the thing, and he needed to conserve a little.

He took one last look across the street, and his eyes fell on the boy. His son, standing with Bobby Mercer, holding onto the man as if he belonged with him; and it sent a hot flash through his brain. No, he didn't belong with Bobby Mercer. He belonged to Adam Macks, and he was going to make sure the kid remembered that before it was all over with. He would get rid of the Mercers and he would teach his son a lesson or two in respecting his father, and doing what the hell he was told.

He turned and trudged down the alley, making his way to the next cross street, being careful to stick to the shadows and not be seen. All the while Jones was talking to him in the back of his head, trying to tell him what he needed to do. He did his best to stop the voice from rambling on so much, but it did no good. In the end, he had to let Jones come to the surface and take over. He was too exhausted to fight against him. It was probably better if Jones dealt with Higgins face to face anyway; he seemed to have better luck getting people to do what he needed them to do.


	55. Chapter 55

As always, thanks to all for reading and let me know what you think! Special thanks to all who review! :)

Don't own, make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 55: Because Bobby Said So**

Craig rode in the back seat of Camille's sedan, sandwiched in between Jack and Bobby. He seemed to be able to let his body relax a little as they drove away from the remains of the warehouse, and left the battle to put the fire out behind them. He rested his head back in the seat, feeling warm, and finally feeling as if he could breathe freely. Once Bobby had talked him into getting out of the car, things had felt close to normal, especially after Jack's insight into how Bobby's actions had indeed resulted in the destruction of Sofi's car, in a roundabout, indirect fashion. It had been something for him to laugh at, on the inside at least.

He hadn't expected his brother to throw him to the she-wolves though, subjecting him to the actions of two women who seemed to think he was no older than Amelia; and as much as he wanted to be pissed at Bobby, at the moment he just felt better knowing that he was close. His mind was wondering back to the inside of that building with Adam Macks standing in front of him, so close that he could smell the cigarettes on his breath. He'd thought Jack was knocked out cold, and he that he was about to fall victim to the monster once more. The idea of Adam touching him again sent a cold sensation through him, deep into his soul. He'd done something he had never done before, and he'd tried to fight back. Of course he knew that if Jack hadn't been there to take care of him he never would have been able to fight against Adam, not the way Jack had.

He glanced up at Jack who was now sitting to his right, staring out the window. He looked as if he were in another world at that moment, lost in his own thoughts. He wondered what it was that was going on with him that no one would tell him, but dismissed that line of thinking. His brothers were never going to tell him everything, just like he would never tell them everything. He knew that. He had to accept it and not let it bother him. What bothered him was he couldn't shake the feeling that it involved him somehow. Maybe not even him directly, but it had something to do with him in some way, every part of his body ached with that sensation.

Camille and Sofi had gone into a long explanation as to the reasons they had left Jerry and Angel at the warehouse. They seemed to haveto describe every last detail about the small, quiet pub where they had stopped for a small drink before going to pick up the girls. Craig didn't pay too much attention to the talk. He let his eyes close and listened as Bobby and Jack quietly moaned in frustration every time the women started talking about someone they had run into and their conversation side stepped to the person's clothes, and how out of fashion they were, or the purse they had been carrying was a designer rip-off and not the real thing. Eventually their story ended with how they had ended up back at the warehouse, thinking their men had perished in the fire, despite the fact that they had been told on the phone that they were alive and mostly in one piece.

Their voices seemed to end as the car came to a stop. Craig felt the transmission shift to park and opened his eyes to look up at his home. Finally, he was home, and he couldn't wait to get inside and hide from the horrors he'd been exposed to since early that morning.

"You stay here for a minute Craig. We want to check the house first." Bobby spoke as he moved to get out of the car.

Craig hadn't expected to have to wait in the car. He wanted to go in, and get a shower and put on his sweatpants. He wanted to crawl into his mother's bed and hide from the dangers that lurked outside, in the black night. He watched as Bobby exited the car on his left side, and Jack followed closely, shutting the door with a hard slam on his right. He watched as they both walked through the front porch door and disappeared. His mind started to play out all sorts of possible endings for the night. What if the house blew up? What if Adam was waiting inside and killed them both as soon as they walked in? What if Adam was waiting outside and was watching him now, in the car, separated from the only people who could keep him safe? What if he walked up to the car that very second and…?

"Don't look so worried. Bobby knows what he's doing." Sofi spoke quietly from in front of him.

Craig looked to the women in the front seat, a little irritated that his 'what if' game had been interrupted, but still thankful that they were both there. He looked back to the house, almost wishing that Bobby hadn't been so honest with him. If he had thought up some kind of stupid lie then he would have at least been waiting out there oblivious to the worries that were apparently weighing on their minds. He knew however, that if Bobby hadn't been honest with him it would have bothered him even more. All he could do was sit there and wait.

Minutes passed in silence before Bobby came back to the car and let Craig get out. He leaned down to the passenger's side front window and talked to Camille and Sofi. "You go get Jerry and Angel?" He seemed to be asking something else, but Craig didn't try to figure it out. His brain wanted nothing more to think about. He didn't want to let himself think. He was too close to falling into the events of the entire day and drowning in them. He wasn't ready to think about it yet.

"Don't worry Bobby, we know what to do." Sofi didn't smile at him, but she looked him straight in the eye when she spoke.

"Okay." Bobby nodded his head and looked down at Craig. "You ready to go inside?" He asked while the window rolled up and the car pulled away from the curb.

Craig nodded his head. "Yeah, I need to wash my face." He didn't mean to say it quite so sharp, but his face didn't feel the least bit clean after Camille's on the spot washing, and the idea of getting it washed off made him remember how pissed he'd been when he'd realized Bobby was really going to walk away and leave him there to fend off spit wads and Sofi's constant need to kiss his forehead.

Bobby laughed. "Sorry kid, but like I said before, brothers look out for each other, and stand up for each other. You saved my ass back there."

"But you tossed my ass right into line of fire." Craig muttered, not thinking about his choice of words at that moment. He decided that if Bobby said something about his language he would simply point out that he was repeating his brother's own words.

"I'll make it up to you." Bobby let him step up to the door ahead of him.

"How do you plan on doing that?" Craig challenged while he opened the door.

"Hell, I don't know. What do you want? You name it, you got it." Bobby asked casually. He reached past Craig, grabbed the door and held it open.

Craig walked ahead of Bobby across the enclosed porch to the front door, thinking about what he might want that he may actually be able to guilt his brother into getting for him. It wouldn't necessarily make him feel better about being used to ward off the women, but he might get over it a little quicker. There was one thing that he'd always wanted, and though Evelyn had always told him he could have one, some day, that day never seemed to come. He stopped in front of the door and bit his lip for a long moment before turning to look at Bobby. "I want a dog." He kept his voice serious, and did his best not to let his face show how much he truly wanted this.

Bobby stared at him, "A dog?" He repeated. "You gotta be shittin' me, right?"

Craig shook his head, and he could feel that it was a pointless pursuit. Bobby wouldn't let him have a dog. He didn't really care, or at least that's what he told himself.

"You really want a dog? Because I was thinking more along the lines of letting you stay up late for a week, or lie around on the couch for a few days and have complete control of the T.V. You know, shit like that." Bobby looked surprised.

Craig felt his heart drop. He shrugged his shoulders gave up on the idea without trying to argue. He told himself he shouldn't have even tried. Why would his brother bother get him a dog? It wasn't as if they could really afford one, he was sure. His brother was still getting used to taking care of him, why would he want a dog thrown in the mix? He managed to sound as normal as he could and turned to the door. "Can I sleep in for a week?" He questioned as he pushed the front door open. It wasn't as if he would sleep in. He wasn't so sure he'd want to sleep for a long time.

"Now that's more like it. Okay, you can sleep in for a week." Bobby agreed.

Craig stepped into the foyer and started unfastening the jacket that he'd used as a shield against the rest of the world all day. He realized sleeping in wouldn't work out so well with going to school and decided to approach that problem in an effort to forget the dog idea. "What about school? I'm supposed to go back on Monday." He pointed out as he shrugged the coat off and hung in it on up on the only available peg.

"I don't think you're gonna be goin' back for a while. You still ain't got your lessons caught up. I'll go in Monday and talk to someone about setting you up to do your school shit from home for a while. I'm sure we can work something out." Bobby removed his own coat. Rather than hanging it up on the wall he stepped over to the closet to store it away on a hanger.

Craig heard movement in the kitchen and looked in that direction to see Jack moving about, apparently preparing something to eat. He hadn't eaten since lunch, and part of him felt as if he was starving. The other part of him didn't think he could handle anything on his stomach.

"You want to go wash your face?" Bobby looked at him and laughed a little.

"Can I take a shower?" Craig asked quickly, "And get ready for bed?"

Bobby nodded his head. "Yeah, you can do that, and when you're done you can eat something."

"I'd rather just go to bed." Craig muttered.

"Well you're gonna eat something first." Bobby's response sounded final.

Craig thought about the deal he'd just made with Bobby. "Can I change our deal? I don't want to sleep in every morning." He tried to sound as if he was determined.

"What do you want to change it to?" Bobby looked skeptical.

"I want to go to bed after my shower." Craig hoped it would work. He really didn't think he could eat at that moment. In fact, he was sure of it. His gut quickly filling up with anxiety at it was. He was in a safe place, and maybe that was allowing his mind to dwell on some of the worst moments of his day.

He was safe at home; he knew that, but the idea that Bobby and Jack had to check the house before they would let him go in gave him the chills. It reminded him that Adam was still out there, somewhere, and his brothers had no idea what he was going to try next. He had actually tried to kill Jerry and Angel. He'd tried to run Jack and him down right there, on the street, and had fired shots at them.

Adam had attacked not just him, but his brothers, and they hadn't seen it coming, not even Bobby had seen it coming. He should have known not to hope for the freedom that he craved so badly; the freedom that would release him from his past, and from the events of the last month. He felt sick deep inside, and there wasn't any room for him to put any food.

"Hell no," Bobby shook his head. "You are gonna sit down at the table with me and Jack, and you are gonna eat all your veggies. It's just gonna be a salad, or something like that, it's not gonna be anything big. You can eat a little bit, and then you can go to bed." Bobby motioned for the boy to walk ahead of him, up the stairway.

"But I'm not hungry, and you said that I could have whatever I wanted before, you were the one who came up with the idea, not me." Craig started to argue, the frustration building inside of him. He knew everything that had happened wasn't Bobby's fault, and he wasn't actually pissed at him, but he felt irritation at not being able to go to bed and have the freedom to hide away from the entire world for a short time.

Bobby stepped up to him and took hold of both of shoulders. "You listen to me. I know how you are feeling. I get that. You wanna talk to me? You need to get some shit off your chest? That's great, but there ain't gonna be no fucking around with stupid shit, like trying not to eat, or bitchin' about having Camille and Sofi baby on you a little bit. I think you needed a little bit of that. To hell with it saving my ass, I can deal with Sofi and Camille. Those women were bitchin' just to bitch. Their men had almost died, and they were bitchin' because they were scared. That's not such a big deal to me, I can deal with them. But you needed something else to think about, and it worked. I think gettinga little attention from them was good for you, it gave you something to focus on. Now you don't have anything in your head to focus on, and you're thinking about other shit." Bobby nodded his head. "I get that and I can deal with it. You gotta deal with it too. There ain't gonna be none of this bitchin' about the little crap just because you don't want to talk about the real problem." Bobby spoke a little louder than he needed to for Craig to hear him.

The boy didn't like the way Bobby was talking. He didn't want to talk about anything that had happened that day. He didn't want to think about it. That was the reason he wanted to go to bed. At least if he went to sleep he wouldn't remember most of the nightmares that he might have, and he'd know that Bobby was there to drive the images of the monster away. He swallowed at the emotions that were starting to build inside.

"Now do you want to talk to me? Do you want to unload about how fucking rotten your day has been?" Bobby pushed.

Craig shook his head slowly.

"What was that?" Bobby didn't look angry, but he looked as if he was losing is patience.

"No." Craig muttered, looking away from his brother.

"If you change your mind you let me know." Bobby pointed to the stairs. "Now we are going to go up and you are going to get your shower. We'll come back down and you will eat, and I do mean you'll finish every last bit of food that's put in front of you. I'm not gonna spend the whole night battling with you. I got too much I gotta do, and that means you are going to listen to every word I say to you, and you ain't gonna argue with me about one single thing, you got that?"

Craig swallowed at the lump forming in the back of his throat. He hadn't meant to piss Bobby off, but he had and it seemed he did that a lot. "I'm sorry." He muttered as he turned to walk up the stairs.

"Hey, I'm not mad at you." Bobby grabbed his arm and pulled back to look at him. He shook his head and drew in a deep breath. "Let me explain something to you. This is how this is gonna work, with you and me. I tell you to do something, and you do it. You don't like what I'm telling you, you have every right to let me know you don't like it, but that don't make it negotiable. You don't have to like everything you're told, but you're damn sure gonna do it. Got that?"

Craig nodded his head slowly. "Okay."

Bobby sucked in a deep breath and pulled the boy into a hug. "I love ya kid, and I know it's been shitty, but it's gonna get better."

Craig felt his body relax a little. "He was right there." He spoke the words without realizing he was thinking them. "He was right in front of me, and he touched me."

Bobby's entire body seemed to stiffen. "You didn't tell me that before." He muttered. "He touched you?"

"He was supposed to be dead." Craig ignored the question and let his mind speak for him. He hadn't meant to say anything to start with, but now that he'd spoken that first sentence it didn't seem to want to stop.

"But you didn't really believe that, did you?" Bobby kept his voice quiet. "I don't think none of us really believed that. This time will be different. I'm going to make sure that this time, he doesn't come back. I promise you that. There ain't gonna be no more Adam Macks when I'm finished."

"He always comes back." Craig rested his head on Bobby's chest and drew in a shaky breath.

"Not this time. I mean that, you gotta put some trust in your brothers. It's gonna happen because I said it's gonna happen. You remember that." Bobby seemed to wait for a few minutes, to see if Craig would say anything else, but the teen was trying to push the thoughts out of his mind. Bobby finally pulled him back and looked down at him. "Now come on, you need to get your shower."

Craig let Bobby pull him up the steps, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to eat, because Bobby said so. He was also going to have to try to trust his brothers, again, because Bobby said so. He couldn't really do anything else but wait and see what would happen next, and that thought scared him.

* * *

Angel stepped through the door and walked up to Jeremiah, who was sitting on a bench, reading a magazine and laughing at whatever the hell he was looking at.

"You look real concerned. I could have been in there dying, and you're out here checking out the fashion magazines?" Angel spoke a little loud, but he managed to smile.

"You're good; I knew that before we ever loaded up in the back of that ambulance." Jeremiah dropped the magazine and stood. "That was pretty quick though." He motioned to the door, but Angel understood he was referring to the emergency room behind it.

"Yeah, they did an x-ray, and said there's no concussion. I'm fine." Angel looked around the waiting area. "So, either you've been sitting here the whole time, expanding your mind, or you did some asking around about Green?" He looked his brother in the eye.

"I did some asking. I got his room number. I'm his loving brother by the way." Jerry smiled.

"His brother, damn, he's got a shit load of problems, now ain't he?" Angel grinned once more and then sighed. "So how is he doin'?" He asked with a serious tone.

"He lost a lot of blood. The bullet didn't hit any vital organs, but it put one hell of a hole him. He's gonna be fine. Apparently he was awake and talking earlier, his family and a few friends were in with him but he sent them all home, told them not to come back until morning, he was tired and didn't want them hangin' around, making themselves sick with worry." Jerry turned and led Angel down the hallway leading back towards the elevators. "Sofi and Camille have already been here. Sofi was gonna wait for us upstairs, Camille's in the car, ready in case we need a speedy getaway." He informed.

Angel nodded his head. "I can't believe we're actually doin' this shit." He spoke quietly. "Sneaking into a man's hospital room this late at night, is that a crime?"

"No, it ain't no crime. The hospital might kick us out, but it ain't a crime." Jerry laughed initially, but then his laughter drifted away and he looked worried. "I don't think it's any kind of crime. How could it be against the law to want to see a good friend in his time of need?"

"You mean our time of need." Angel corrected quietly. "You said you were his brother, you think Green will go along with it if we do get caught in his room? Will he play along and help us out?" Angel asked. He wasn't so sure about sneaking into Green's room and waking a man who had just been shot and gone through hours of surgery. "I don't know man, this don't feel right." He didn't give Jeremiah a chance to answer his questions.

"He'll back us up on this. The man ain't gonna want this guy to get away with tryin' to kill him, man. He's gonna want us to find him." Jerry nodded his head. "He'll probably want us to call the police when we do find him, and he'll insist he wants this guy to face a judge, but we'll just have to play it by ear."

"Man, why are we even doin' this?" Angel asked. "We could come down here in the morning and talk to him, and do it during regular visiting hours. Why the hell are we here now?"

"Because Bobby said so," Jerry laughed. "Hell, you ever notice we always end up doin' what the hell Bobby says, even when we don't want to?" He stopped in front of the elevator and hit the call button.

"Yeah, I have noticed a bit of a pattern starting. Feels like old times though, don't it?" Angel smiled as he remembered all the times he and his brothers had run the street, causing trouble in one form or another. He let his mind drift back through some of those memories the entire ride in the elevator. Jerry was quiet and that was a sign that his brother was nervous, he knew that. He just hoped Jerry's nerves didn't get them caught.

When Angel and Jerry stepped off the elevator they saw Sofi standing in front of some pictures hanging in the wide corridor, studying them with what seemed to be genuine interest. The sound of the elevator door closing drew her attention their way and she flashed Angel a small smile. She took a step to her left, and walked through a door, waving them to follow her.

Angel looked at Jerry, who appeared as confused as he felt. They had planned for Sofi to distract the nurse and draw attention away from Green's room so they could slip in. There had never been any mention of actually meeting up with her.

Angel knew how Sofi thought, and the idea of what was on the other side of that door made him nervous. What the hell was she up to? Did she want to add sex to the agenda? It would be like her, wanting to have a go around in a hospital. She liked the thrill of doing it in unusual places, and to be honest, so did Angel. Hell, he could tell some stories about a few of the places Sofi had decided that she had to have it, right then and there.

"You wait here; I'll tell her we need have to stick to a time table here." Angel spoke quietly to Jerry.

Jerry scowled at him. "You tell that crazy bitch we ain't got time for her games, man." He crossed his arms at his chest and started to look nervous.

Angel walked up to the door Sofi had disappeared through and opened it slowly. He was sure he was going to find her stripping down in the middle of an examining room, but as he looked in he found her going through some hospital laundry folded neatly in large canvas hampers lining the walls.

"What in the fuck are you doin'?" He kept his voice quiet.

Sofi looked up. "Get Jeremiah and get in here." She kept her voice at a whisper.

Angel waved for Jerry to follow, and shook his head as he walked in. "Sofi, we ain't got time for this. We need to talk to Green." He stepped up to her and looked at the large hamper she was going through.

Jeremiah walked in and closed the door quickly. "What the hell?" He asked.

"Don't you think it would make more sense to just walk in, like a doctor?" Sofi held up a set of green scrubs and held them out to Angel. "Put these on. You'll look like you belong and you can just walk right in."

Angel took the clothing, "With this on my head?" He spoke sarcastically as he fingered the bandage on his forehead.

"I thought of that." Sofi held up a cap that matched the scrubs.

Angel glanced at Jerry. "You know, this ain't such a bad idea." He commented. "We can walk in and walk out without anyone taking much notice." He shrugged his shoulders.

"We had a plan. We were gonna do this a certain way. Why do we always have to change shit as we go? Bobby ain't here, we ain't gotta 'wing it'." Jerry cried out.

"Jerry, this is better than the plan, you gotta admit that. Sofi can still be a decoy if we do get busted." Angel wanted to try this, he liked the idea of looking like someone important for a little while.

"You just like playin' people, and this is something you can play. I ain't like you; I can't act like a doctor." Jerry argued.

"Fine, you can be a nurse." Sofi thrust another set of scrubs at Jerry, but this pair was blue.

"This is stupid. We need to be sticking to the plan. For once Bobby actually came up with a plan and we end up 'wingin' it' anyway." Jerry grumbled as he pulled the thin blue material over his clothes.

"Stop your bitchin'; you're just pissed because you didn't think of it." Angel laughed while he put on the uniform. He finally looked at Jerry and froze. The front of Jeremiah's blue jacket was spotted with fluffy white clouds and bunny rabbits. He felt his lips pucker in the attempt to keep his self from laughing. He knew he should point the clouds and bunnies out to Jerry and give him the chance to change the jacket, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. "Looks good, let's go." He spoke quickly and stepped to the door.

Angel let Jerry lead him down the hall to the ward where Green's room should be. He made sure to stay behind his brother a few feet, so he could look at the faces of the nighttime staff they passed. They all nodded in greeting, but gave Jerry an odd look before moving on.

As they approached Green's room Jerry seemed more nervous. Angel knew by his actions that he was starting to feel as if they were being watched so closely because they were about to get busted for impersonating hospital staff.

Jerry found the room and ducked into the door quickly, nearly pushing it closed before Angel had a chance to make it through. "Would you watch it? What the hell is wrong with you?" Angel whispered as he turned and eased the door closed quietly before giving Jerry his full attention.

"Me? Didn't you see the looks they were giving us? They know we ain't doctors, and they're probably calling security right now!" Jerry's voice came out in a whisper, but his entire body bounced with each syllable he spoke.

"If they did make us for cons, it's because of the way you were acting. Damn, can't you just stay calm?" Angel did his best to whisper the loud yell he wanted to release. He gave Jeremiah a warning glare, but it didn't seem to faze his brother one bit.

"The way I was acting? I was acting like I was because we were getting all those looks." Jerry countered with his whisper turning into more of a hiss through his clenched teeth. "Man, we are in so much fucking trouble here. And we're here why? Because Bobby said so, that figures," He let out a small huff.

"Would both of you just shut the hell up and tell me why you are in my room?" A third voice broke in. It sounded weak, and tired, and pissed.


	56. Chapter 56

I really wish these guys would shut up and let me write what I had planned on writting, but they just keep coming up with something new! Let me know what you think, and thanks to all for reading. Thanks for the reviews, you guys are awesome! :)

Legal stuff still counts.

* * *

**Chapter 56: A Talk With Green**

Green had been struggling with sleep since he'd sent his wife home around eight o'clock. She had called almost as soon as she got home, and they had talked for a short time. She was scared, and hadn't wanted to leave. He understood that, but he didn't want her sitting in a chair all night worrying about him when she could be home in her own bed getting some restful sleep. Not that he believed she would actually sleep, but he felt better knowing she was home, and safe, and he tried to relay that to her.

He assured her on the phone that he was just fine, though deep down, he knew he'd been close to death from the loss of blood. No one had actually told him that, but he'd felt it. He had felt his own life flowing out of his body as the blood drained. He had no real memory of anything that had happened after he'd wrecked the car, and the events before that were choppy on his brain, only bits and pieces, but they were coming back slowly. He was sure if it weren't for the drugs that were being dripped into him from the I.V. his mind would experience a total recall. He couldn't help but feel there was something important that he needed to remember, something significant.

Johnson had come in and talked to him just after he'd sent his wife home. It was a short visit, and he'd filled him in on what had happened, as much as his fellow officers could piece together at least. He'd been able to fill in some of the missing parts himself by deciphering the flashes of memory that did come to him. He needed to know exactly what had happened. Sleep, though it sounded welcoming, wasn't an option until he had something figured out.

His mind was groggy, and he felt as if he was trapped in a fog. It made it difficult to concentrate and that led to frustration. He knew that if he closed his eyes and let his mind drift he would be able to sleep. He even knew that after some sleep his mind would probably function on a higher level. But there was a relentless gnawing, right on the edge of comprehension, that he couldn't quiet identify; it was keeping his brain active, needing an answer when it didn't even know the question.

He had tried to watch the television, but it only seemed to irritate him so he turned it off. The dim light above his bed was the only illumination in the room, and it should have been soothing, it wasn't harsh, or invading; and yet it irritated the shit out of him. He didn't want it dark; he would have preferred more light. But when the lights were on bright and bold they bothered him. It seemed his body wasn't satisfied with anything around it at that moment; he felt as if there was something lurking around him that was a threat.

When the door to his room opened he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the sink on the far wall. It was almost eleven thirty. He wasn't due for any more medication until midnight. He watched as the two forms slinked into the room, looking jumpy and nervous. He could hear their whispers and he recognized the agonizing sound of Jeremiah Mercer talking about how they were going to get caught. He wasn't surprised to hear Angel Mercer berating his brother, telling him if they'd been made it was his fault for acting so damn nervous.

Part of him wanted to laugh at the sight of the two men trying to pass themselves off as hospital personnel, but another part of him wanted to strangle them both for invading his quiet thought process. Not that he'd been making any kind of advance in figuring out what the hell was nagging at his brain, but still, he wanted to keep working at it. "Would both of you just shut the hell up and tell me why you are in my room?" He was surprised how weak and frail his own words sounded while he watched both men turn towards him. Both stared at him with surprise. They hadn't expected him to be awake, or they were sure they were in trouble now that they were there, in his room, late at night. It could have been a little bit of both.

It was Angel who stepped closer and spoke first. "Damn, Wilber, you scared the shit out of us." He flashed him a smile. "How are you doin' man? You look like hell."

Green moaned at the sound of his first name and the way it rolled off of Angel's lips so smooth. The man seemed to have been practicing it. "Of course I look like hell, you fool; I was shot. I'm trying to sleep, and I got two men posing as hospital employees sneaking into my room, keeping me from getting some much needed rest." Green did his best to keep the slur out of his words, but failed miserably. "What the hell are you two doing sneaking in here?" He looked from Angel to Jeremiah, who finally stepped closer to where the dim light could fall on him. Green took in the sight of Jeremiah Mercer standing before him. He had to blink hard and take a second look at the man wearing the powder blue smock dotted with cut little rabbits and swirling white clouds. He couldn't hold in the laugh as he pointed to the white designs. "What the hell Jeremiah, you trying to pull off a covert operation wearing that?" He had to admit, the laughter felt good. He could feel his irritation melt away.

"What?" Jerry looked down at the front of his jacket as if he hadn't seen it before. His eyes narrowed and he turned to Angel. "This is not funny. No wonder I was getting looks. We wanted to blend in, not stick out for the whole hospital to gawk at." He almost forgot to keep his voice quiet as he started to shrug the uniform down off of his shoulders.

"They didn't gawk at me, man, just you. Besides don't you think they're used to seeing young, men nurses, using bunnies and clouds as a fashion statement?" Angel flashed a smile and looked down at Green.

"Don't be taking that off in here." Green shook his head. "You walked in here wearing it. It wouldn't look right for you to be walking out of here without it, you know that, right?" He couldn't resist prolonging Jeremiah's torture. Hell, he was glad to see both Jerry and Angel. His body relaxed, at least for the time being. He had yet to consider why they would be tip-toeing into his hospital room in the middle of the night.

Jerry gave him an irritated look, but he slid the jacket back up into place as he turned to Angel. "I will get you back for this." He gave his brother a long glare before turning back to Green. "How are you doin'? You gonna live?" He asked.

"I'm gonna live." Green gave his head a weak nod. "But you could have called the hospital and found that out. You could have waited until morning to come by. So what the hell is goin' on? Why are you two fools standing in my room looking like eighty's versions of Denzel Washington?" He looked from Angel to Jeremiah. "What's happened?" He could see a look behind Jeremiah's eyes that sent a chill through him.

"Macks ain't dead." Angel announced quietly. "He came after us." He added quickly. "Nearly took out me and Jerry, blew up the warehouse, and tried to run Jack and Craig down with his car. His car was hauled in by your buddies from the department. It should be in the impound yard by now, but the ass hole got away."

Green was at a loss for any complete thought, let alone words. He stared at the men, and noticed the corner of a bandage showing just under the green cap on Angel's head. "You're both okay, Jack and Craig?" He finally managed to ask with slurred words.

"We're all fine. It just was a bad end to a bad day, if you know what I mean." Angel shook his head and looked at Jeremiah. "Not to mention that Jerry's future just blew up in his face, literally."

Green looked at Jeremiah and sighed. "I don't know what I can do, seeing as how I'm a little out of commission right now." He muttered, not sure why they had felt the need to sneak into his room so late at night to tell him this news.

"We don't want you to do shit. We were actually thinking that since Macks ain't dead, and he's showed his hand, that it might be connected to the attempt on your life." Jeremiah spoke quickly. "And believe it or not, we were worried about you, wanted to see for ourselves that you was still breathing." He grinned down at Green.

Green winced as his brain ached to process the information. "Connected, shit, sounds like it could be. I was on my way to meet one of the federal guys working the Macks case." He muttered as he tried to remember the details of his meeting meeting with Dearth. "He called me while I was talking to, someone else." He caught himself just in time. He nearly let his meeting with Dearth slip out, and he couldn't let the details of that meeting fall onto Mercer ears, it was part of an open investigation.

"Yeah, Dearth," Angel nodded his head casually. "He met with a guy named Jones, right?"

Green felt his breath catch. "Now how did you know about that?" He asked, though some possible answers ran through his head.

"Bobby has a way of coming up with some shit." Jerry commented. "Jeff Jones is Adam Macks. The fucker applied for and got a job with us. He was given the grand tour, and then came back to blow it all to hell."

Green listened while the Mercers recalled their entire day, starting with the meeting with Mr. Porter from the District Attorney's office, right up how they ended up in his room, with Jeremiah wearing bunnies and clouds. He listened to the entire speech, though it did get a little confusing with Angel and Jerry arguing over the small details as they took turns describing what had happened. He finally managed to interject a statement as the two of them argued over the nurse and doctor routine they were now into. "So, you're damn sure it's Macks." He didn't doubt them, he actually believed they were right on with Macks being alive and well and coming back to make all of their lives hell. The man was a crazy son of a bitch. Each piece of information they shared seemed to click into place. It fit with what had happened to him, at least from what he could remember.

"We're sure." Jerry nodded his head. "We think he's stayin' with Jordan but we ain't sure about that part."

Green nodded his head. "It wouldn't surprise me; Jordan's family ain't in the picture from what I hear. But Macks has got to have someone else working with him. He didn't shoot me. He usually doesn't do his own dirty work, and God knows Jordan didn't pull the trigger, he can't leave his house or he'd be busted within minutes. He's got a tracking device strapped to his ankle." Green racked his brain hard, trying to grasp that missing link that was lurking just at the edge of his memory.

"What about Winston?" Angel asked. "You think it could have been him?"

Green shrugged his shoulders. "Jessup Winston has been busted down to the poor and homeless. He might have teamed up with Macks, but I don't know. I can't see him doing anything for him voluntarily; he hates the man with a passion." Green sighed and let his eyes slip closed for a short moment. "Winston ain't such a bad guy, really. I talked to him for quite a while, getting his statement. He was never a blood thirsty thug, just greedy. He kept most of his business clean, but he liked the game that the illegal shit provided. He's payin' the price for his wrong doing. He's lost everything, from what I hear, and he's looking at some jail time." He opened his eyes and looked at the men standing next to his bed.

"Well, there was a dead body pulled out of the warehouse fire." Jerry informed the detective. "You think that might be the same person who shot you?"

"I couldn't say. Damn, I was really set up." Green spoke slowly as he realized his own words were true. He thought about the memories from earlier that day for a long moment, almost losing himself in the mental process. He finally managed to snap his mind back to the men in front of him, and the conversation they were having. "I was talking to Dearth, and I got the call to meet a Fed at some restaurant. I tried to get a hold of you both, to give you some kind of head's up about the ass hole who had contacted the reporter trying to get the man to print a whole new version of what happened in the paper. Neither of you would answer your phones." He looked at Angel and then Jerry with a critical glare as he remembered how frustrated he'd been.

"We were doing interviews all day. We didn't have our cell phones available." Jeremiah explained. "We kept them turned off."

"Well, some of us had them turned off; others let the fucking battery go dead." Angel scowled at his brother.

Jeremiah came back with a defensive remark, which only sparked another remark from Angel, something about Jerry being the one who was supposed to have common sense.

Green felt a small smile slip out. Even in their situation the brothers could bicker with each other over the little shit. He found that comforting for some reason. He let his mind's focus fall back to how he'd been set up earlier that day. "I pulled into that restaurant, and the place was closed down, abandoned. I realized it was a set up and I tried to get the hell out of there." He nodded his head, speaking more to himself than the other men in the room, though he had silenced their squabble over the cell phone with his words. "Whoever shot me was inside that building, and they knew how to handle a gun."

"Damn." Angel shook his head.

"I hit the gas and tried to get out onto the street." Green swallowed as the memories of his own fear swelled up inside his chest. "I hit something, a wall, or something, and I could feel myself bleeding, and trying to breathe under the pressure of the airbag." He closed his eyes for along moment, and thankfully Angel and Jerry both remained quiet while his mind churned around the memories, trying to make sense. He finally sighed and shook his head. "Hell, the next thing I remember was Higgins showing up, calling for backup on his radio." Alarms went up mentally as soon as he spoke the words. He hadn't actually remembered that important fact until that very moment.

There was a long period of silence before Angel spoke up. "Higgins? The same Higgins that tried to fuck with Craig when he was in the hospital just after Sweet's screwed up game?" His voice sounded flat, void of all emotion.

Green looked at Angel and could see the thoughts spinning behind his stare, "Yeah, that Higgins. The same Higgins that responded with Johnson the night Bobby's car was, well, stolen." He chose his words carefully. His mind was piecing it together, just as Angel's was, he could see it, and feel it, and hell, he could even taste it, and it tasted bitter. "He got to me too fast." He muttered. "I didn't have a chance to call for help. He got to me too fucking quick."

"But if he was out to kill you, then why the hell did he call for help? He probably saved your life." Jeremiah questioned, not looking too sure of the idea that Higgins was indeed the shooter who tried to kill Green.

"Maybe he was trying to cover his tracks. Take the focus off of him; that could be why." Angel countered. "That needs to be looked into."

"I'll have to get someone to check into his story. I don't know if I was in an area he was patrolling or not, but it's worth checking." Green sighed, feeling some sort of relief fill him. He felt as if he'd managed to finally grasp hold of that something that had been nagging at him. His body truly relaxed and he suddenly felt exhausted. "Look, if it is Macks…" He started to speak.

"It is. He's got a new face, but it's him. He's made himself over pretty good, but his eyes give him away. Craig knew him right off, and we nearly made it easy for him. Just a fair warning Green, it ain't gonna happen again." Angel shook his head.

"I don't want to hear it Angel, I can't hear it. I'm not going to be involved with this case anymore, you know that. So don't be telling me shit that someone else can ask me about later. If you find him, you know what I think you should do, just do it." Green felt his teeth grind together as he spoke the last of his statement. The son of a bitch needed to die, he knew that, but if he had to be involved, he would have to do what his job demanded and drag his ass in for a fair trial. He had hurt too many people and it wouldn't stop until he was dead. If Macks went to jail it wouldn't end a thing, he knew that. The man would still have contacts on the outside, and he'd keep playing his games. None of them would be safe. He couldn't be involved in any way though. He had already bent too many rules for this cause, and he was riding on a thread as it was. If he hadn't been shot it might be different, he could work at covering some of the shit up, but in the shape he was in, his hands were tied.

"You can't think of anything else that might be helpful?" Jeremiah spoke after a long moment of silence.

"No, there's nothin' else that I can remember right now." Green looked at both men. "If I do remember anything, I'll let you know. If you boys make any moves, don't tell me about it. The less I know, the better off all of us are gonna be." He made certain to speak the words slowly. "I'll have to pass on what I do remember to the officer they are putting in charge of the case, in my absence." He informed them.

Angel gave him a hard stare. "Just how much are you planning on passing on?" He sounded cautious. "Who is taking over the case?"

"I can only give him the facts, boys, I can't tell anyone what I think might be going down, or what I think might need to be done. Don't worry; the man's a good cop, and I'm sure you will like him. His name is Johnson, and he's been working under me for a while now. " Green remembered his visit with Johnson earlier that evening. "He's a friend." He felt his eyes struggling with him, trying to slam closed. "Now both of you get out of here, and get home. I need my beauty sleep."

Angel and Jeremiah looked at each other. "Yeah, you got that right." Angel muttered.

Jeremiah looked at Green. "You take care of yourself, and we'll be in touch. Believe it or not, we're prayin' for ya." He spoke seriously.

Green tried not to smile. "Hell, you need to be praying for them bunnies on your shirt, man that is pitiful." He let his eyes close before Jeremiah could respond. He was sure he could hear both men quietly slipping out of his room.

In the morning he would be able to go over the new information with more clarity, and be able to concentrate on the details. It did bother him that Johnson hadn't mentioned any of the new events evolving around the Mercers when he'd been in earlier, but he was sure it was nothing more than a case of misguided loyalty. The younger man was a good cop, and a good friend. He was glad Johnson had been given the opportunity to work the case in his place. He knew he was capable, and at the same time, he knew Johnson would keep him informed and allow his input if needed. He felt his mind drifting into a relaxed state and soon he didn't even notice the dim light above his head that had been such a nuisance a short time before.

* * *

Jones got into passenger seat of the police cruiser and gave his neck a slight twist, trying to ease some of the tension that had built up there. He looked a Higgins, who appeared agitated. He hoped the man didn't have an attitude. It would be hard to contain Macks if Higgins came off with an attitude. He had noticed a change in Higgins in just the past twenty four hours. He was starting to get cocky, and that wasn't a good thing to do around Macks.

"Put on the seat belt." Higgins muttered as he shoved the gearshift into drive and steered down the street.

Jones smiled and pulled the belt over him to fasten it securely. "You need to relax, Higgins."

"Relax? I shot a fellow officer and you want me to relax?" Higgins shook his head without looking over. "Where's my money?" He sounded pissed.

"Is he dead?" Jones asked, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket.

"No smoking in the car." Higgins spoke quickly.

Jones sighed and pushed the pack back down into his shirt. "Is he dead?" He repeated the question, slowly this time.

"No." Higgins barely got his one word answer out.

Jones smiled. "What makes you think I'm going to give you any money if you haven't completed the job?" He didn't look over at the man.

"You said to take him out of the picture. He's out of the picture. He ain't gonna be working this case. I don't know what the hell it accomplished though. His little buddy was handed the case." Higgins nearly hissed.

"His little buddy," Jones managed a small smile. "And just who is his little buddy?"

"Johnson." Higgins sighed.

"Never heard of him," Jones laughed. "No reason to worry about him, right?"

Higgins shrugged his shoulders. "He's young, but he's not stupid. He's close to Green, so he probably knows more about this whole fucked up situation than anyone else, just not officially. Green had been like some sort of fucking mentor to him."

"You think Green talks about his cases to other people?" Jones shook his head. "He's a good cop. He wouldn't compromise his work by giving details out to people who aren't officially involved, even those people he's close to." He bit at his lip as he thought about his own statement. He hoped that was the case. Green came across as the kind of cop that did things by the book, most of the time. He was sure that until recently Green had never broken a rule or a regulation. If that was the case, and he was any kind of an influence over the younger cop, he had a chance of revising his plan and still making it out of there with his kid, leaving a trail of dead Mercers, and all with little worry about the cops.

Higgins finally cleared his throat loudly. "I need some money Macks, I did what you wanted, and I got Green out of the picture."

Jones laughed quietly. "You were supposed to kill the man, not give him a fucking vacation in the hospital." He shook his head, his voice sounding calm. "And just for the record, you don't refer to me by that name. I'm Jeff Jones." He could feel Macks inside of him, starting to get agitated. He wanted to come out and take care of Higgins himself. "Now, you have another cop to deal with. You gotta tell me all you can about this Johnson. Is he worth approaching?"

"Approaching?" Higgins laughed. "He's bucking for a promotion. He's young, but he's straight, no, he ain't worth approaching. He's had the good fortune of being influenced by Green for too long." He shook his head. "I don't understand how he managed to get the case; honestly, he's a uniform, just like I am, now." His voice came out bitter. "I'm stuck in this fucking uniform because of you, and you're telling me that you ain't gonna pay me shit?" He managed to pull the conversation back to the money issue.

Jones smiled and leaned to his right to pull some bills out of his front left pants pocket. He counted out a thousand dollars and held it up for Higgins to grab hold of.

Higgins glanced at the bills and shook his head. "I shot a cop, a fellow officer. I didn't do that for a few fucking dollars. You promised me some real money." He complained, but he snatched the bills from Jones.

"The real money will come later, when my plan comes together." Jones thought about the phone call he had instructed Jordan to make, just in case things didn't work out at the warehouse. Hell, he had hoped it wouldn't come to this. "I'm going to need for you to drop me off two blocks up." He studied the street without looking over at Higgins. "You just relax, friend. You'll get your money." He let a smile creep across his face.

Higgins looked pissed but he didn't try to carry the conversation on any further. "You gonna tell me where you're gonna be? I might need to get a hold of you." He finally glanced at Jones.

Jones smiled as shook his head. "You got my number. You don't need to know anything else. Don't want to give you any fucking ideas about turning my ass in, now do I?" He pointed to the next intersection. "Right here, let me out." He instructed.

Higgins pulled the car over and put it in park. "So, now what do you want me to do?"

Jones looked at him. "You stay close to what the hell is going on with this new cop on the case. You make sure to keep me informed, and believe me; you will get exactly what you got coming to you." He opened the car door and got out before Higgins could respond. He watched the cruiser pull away from the curb and move on up the street. He sighed as his brain started working on revising his plan.

The first business at hand was to get his ass back to the other side of the city, to Jordan's house. Higgins was far too anxious to find out where he was staying, and he didn't like that. He hadn't shared that piece of information with the man, because he wasn't stupid enough to trust a dirty cop. Being dropped off on the other side of the city was a bit inconvenient, but it was safe. He needed to find a pay phone and call for a cab. He needed to get some shit figured out quick, and he needed a little rest. Macks seemed to be wired at the moment, but Jones was exhausted, and he was going to get some sleep whether Macks liked it or not.


	57. Chapter 57

Thanks all for reading, and extra thanks for the reviews! :) Let me know what you think!

Legal stuff still counts....

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**Chapter 57: Secrets**

Bobby made certain Craig was in the shower before leaving the bathroom to gather up clean clothes for him. He walked into the boy's bedroom and looked around at the small space. He thought about the plans they had made to expand the back of the house out with a large closed in porch in order to give Angel and Craig both more room. He just wondered if the kid would be able to sleep in his own room when it was finished and ready for him.

He drew in a deep breath and pushed the thoughts out of his head. He had other shit to concentrate on. He had to try to come up with a way to get rid of Macks for good. He had to make sure Adam Mack was dead and gone for good, and then the rest of life would straighten itself out. The rest would fall into place and life would be right again, well, as right as life could be without Evelyn Mercer in it to guide them all.

He was feeling anxious, waiting for a call from Jerry or Angel about Green. One of them should be calling soon, he hoped. He needed to know Green's story, know exactly what he was working with. If Macks went after Green, Bobby was sure he had someone aiming that gun for him, and that meant someone else was working with him. Green might tell them his injury was related to another case, or it might have been a random thing, but he needed to know for certain. Hell, he was sure it was connected to Macks, his mind was screaming it at him, but he still needed confirmation.

If Macks was holed up at Jordan's place, then there might be more than just Macks and Jordan to contend with when the time came, and he was going to be ready for that. His plan of action was gonna hinge on that. Macks knew he'd fucked up. He had to know that the Mercers were gonna be out for blood now, and he would either try to lay low for a while, or he'd speed up whatever sick plan he had come up with. Either way, Bobby knew they had to strike fast and they had to strike hard.

It wasn't something Jerry should be part of, but he was sure he and Angel could deal with it. Not that he didn't think Jerry could deal with the shit, but he didn't want him in harm's way, or involved to a point that he could end up in jail; he had a wife and kids, and he'd have to take over with Craig if the need came up. He would have to leave Jack and Craig at the house, but he'd get Jeremiah to stay with them. Besides, Jack was stronger now, and he'd proven that he had enough fight in him to deal with anything that might come up. He'd give him and Jerry both a gun and lock them all up tight in the house.

Bobby shook his head, clearing the thoughts out, at least for the time being. He had to deal with the basics right now. Get Craig his clothes, and then get food into him so he could take his pills and go to bed. He needed to explain to Jack exactly what he was going to need for him to do later on that night. He was counting on Jack to keep Craig safe. He knew he could trust him to do what he needed to protect himself and Craig; he'd already proven that once tonight.

Bobby dug through the drawers to locate clean clothes for Craig, he was sure he'd be ready to get out of the shower soon. He walked out of the room and was surprised to see Jack coming up the stairs. "What the hell are you doing up here? I thought you were getting some food on the table."

"I need a smoke." Jack muttered as he walked past Bobby and headed towards his own room.

Bobby glanced at the closed bathroom door and drew in a deep breath. He knew Jack was having just as hard a time right now as Craig, maybe a little harder because he was trying to hide just how fucked up it was making him. He couldn't let it show around Craig, he didn't think the kid wouldn't understand it. As far as Craig was concerned Adam Macks was a ghost from his past, not Jack's.

He watched Jack disappear into his room and glanced at the bathroom door again. Craig would stay in the room until he came for him, he was sure of that. Hell, he wouldn't have a choice; Bobby was holding his clothes in his hands. He sighed and followed in Jacks direction. He stopped in the doorway, to watch his younger brother light a cigarette and inhale deeply on it, almost as if he couldn't wait for the calming effects. "You okay Jackie?" He asked quietly.

Jack looked over at him and shook his head slowly. "How the hell do you do it Bobby?" He walked over to the window and pulled it up to allow the smoke to drift out. "How the hell to do you manage to keep so fucking cool when all you want to do is break all the shit around you?" He stared out the window; he didn't look back at Bobby. "You have no idea how bad I want to just hit something right now."

"Hell Jack, when I feel like hitting shit I go ahead and hit shit." Bobby forced a laugh. "You need to hit something? Go downstairs to the laundry room and beat the shit out of the wall in there; it's not drywall, its wood. I've done that a lot. Or out back, behind the garage, that's a good place." Bobby walked into the room, assuming it was okay to intrude on his brother since he hadn't been told to leave him the hell alone.

"That son of a bitch was out for blood." Jack kept his voice quiet. "He was gonna kill us all, even Craig I think."

"Yeah, he was." Bobby nodded his head. "That's why we gotta get him before he gets another chance to come after us. We ain't gonna be caught off guard again."

Jack turned and looked at him. "I can't get his face out of my head Bobby. I was fucked up back then. I was real fucked up, and most of it is a blur, but his face is right there." He took another draw off of the cigarette and Bobby could see his hand shaking.

"You were fucked up." Bobby nodded his head in agreement. "But you ain't like that now. You got that shit taken care of. You've dealt with it, right? That was back then, it's not now."

"It feels like it was yesterday. I don't know if it ever gets better. It just gets, I don't know, less intense?" Jack walked over to sit next to Bobby on the bed. He picked an ashtray up off of the shelf on the headboard. "You know, I was scared tonight. If I'd been alone, I don't know that I would have been able to run like I did, or hit him the way I did to get him off of Craig. I had to think about Craig. He had us trapped up in that building. He had us." Jack seemed to shiver next to Bobby. "He knocked the shit out of me." Jack reached up and felt at the side of his face at the bruise that had welted up where Macks had butted him with the pistol. "If it had just been me, alone, I would have let it knock me out cold. I wanted to black out and not wake up. It would have been a lot easier." He looked at Bobby for a long moment. "But I could hear Craig. I could hear that son of a bitch talking to him, and I could see the kid shrinking up inside, and it pissed me off." He drew in a deep breath.

"Yeah, having a little brother does that to you." Bobby reached out with his hand and gave Jack a light punch in the arm. "I know all about that shit."

"I don't know what the hell happened. It just pissed me off." Jack looked back down to his ashtray and knocked the ashes off of his cigarette. "You know, I think about how he messed me up, and I wonder how Craig managed to survive being with him for years."

Bobby nodded his head and looked down at the clothes in his lap. "I know. I wonder the same thing sometimes."

Jack was quiet for a long moment. "Bobby, do you think he knew who I was back then? Do you think he was planning something then?" He finally looked at Bobby, his eyes unreadable for the moment.

"What do you mean?" Bobby didn't understand.

"He knew my name. He knew Mom adopted Craig. He must have known the connection with us. Do you think what he did to me was supposed to be part of some sick plan of his back then? And I fell right into it?" He looked as if he felt guilty for something, and that raised the level of pure hate Bobby felt towards Macks right then.

"I don't know Jack. Maybe he did." Bobby drew in a deep breath. "You were a messed up kid trying to deal with shit and he took advantage of that for whatever reason. What he did to you was not your fault. You got that? He is the sick fucker, not you." He let his breath out slowly, trying to keep himself calm inside. "You already know that Jack."

Jack looked frustrated. He stood and walked back over to the window, sucking on the end of the cigarette again, and this time blowing it out into the night air. "I know that. That's not what I mean." He turned back and looked at Bobby. "What if I almost got Craig snatched back then? What if he was planning to use me to get to him back then? I almost let it happen, didn't I?"

"No, Jack you didn't." Bobby stood and walked over to stand next to him. "You got yourself screwed up for a while, and you got yourself straight when the time came. That's all that was. It wasn't about Craig then, don't try to make it something that it wasn't." Bobby spoke firmly. He didn't know exactly what to say to Jack at that moment, and he tried to think of what his mother might say to him. "He probably never even made that connection. Hell, you didn't, did you?" Okay, it was bullshit, he knew that, but he was hoping Jack would fall for it, at least for the time being. He didn't like where Jack was taking this, and knew his brother would wallow in guilt for something that almost happened but never did.

"I didn't know his name, and I sure as hell didn't know about his connection with Craig. That doesn't mean that he didn't know about the connection I had to him." Jack kept his words quiet. "I think about it, and I could swear he was out to get to him then."

"It never would have happened." Bobby insisted. He didn't know what to say to his brother right then. How was he supposed to tell him that he was probably right about everything he was thinking at that moment? He knew Jack, and he knew he would turn it into guilt, and carry it around with him and nurture the feeling of being responsible for what had happened to him years before; it didn't make sense to him, but it would make sense to Jack. The kid was too fucking sensitive about some things. "You had nothing to do with whatever sick plan that man might have been trying to pull off back then. You got that?" He spoke a little harder than he meant to. "And I'll tell you right now, you've done a hell of a lot of growing since then. Look at you Jack. You are probably the only reason Craig ain't gone completely nuts on us. He knows you understand what's happened to him, and he figures if you can deal with it, then he can. You took a bullet for your little brother. You fucking fought off goons to try to keep him safe and got tubes and shit ripped out of you. Hell, you saved his life tonight. That's what matters now, not how fucked up you were a few years ago. You fought him tonight, and you won. You're stronger than him, in your head. You got more going for you than he gave you credit for. You gotta remember that."

"Damn, I got you fooled don't I?" Jack let out a 'humph' with his breath and knocked the ashes off the end of his cigarette before taking in more of the smoke.

"You ain't the scared little kid who couldn't handle what life had thrown at him. You don't gotta hide from that shit by drowning yourself in drugs and booze anymore, you got yourself up above that and that's something you gotta be proud of, that takes some strength, from inside. What Macks did to you back then was sick, and fucked up, and cruel. You had no way of knowing who he was, how could you have known that? None of us knew Jack. You got past all that shit. You took care of Craig real good tonight, and you've been strong through all of this." He turned Jack to face him. "I'm proud of you. If you start to think about the bad shit, stop your brain from going there and just remember that I told you I was proud of you. Because I damn sure ain't gonna admit it if I'm asked about it later."

Jack managed a small smile. "Damn, I guess that's something." He Muttered, and his eyes shifted away for a moment, towards the open door, and then back to Bobby. An expression crossed his face and his eyes darted back towards the door. "Craig." He spoke quickly.

Bobby turned to follow Jack's stare. Craig was standing in the hall, just outside of the open door, wearing only his blue jeans, his hair dripping water down his body. He looked devastated. His gaze was fixed on Jack, but he looked as if he had just stepped up to the door. Just how much he had heard Bobby had no way of knowing. "Craig, you were supposed to wait for me." He turned to the boy, trying to keep his voice calm. "You know better than to listen in on other people talking." He started to take a step towards the boy. "How long you been there?" He asked.

Craig shook his head slowly and seemed to think about the words for a long moment. "I just got cold, waiting." He barely got the words out. "Sorry." He seemed to be trying to hold something inside, but after the day he'd had it seemed normal. "Can I have my clothes?" He asked quietly.

Bobby walked to the door. "You go back to the restroom and I'll come for you in a minute." He handed the clothes over to him. He studied Craig's eyes; they usually held any secrets he was hiding. He couldn't see anything there. Nothing new that is. The kid looked scared, but he'd looked that way since Macks had reared his ugly head and struck out at them. He sighed and gave the boy a quick nod. "Go on." He pointed in the general direction of the bathroom.

Craig turned and walked back down the hall. Bobby waited until the door closed behind the boy before he let out a worried sigh. "I don't think he heard anything." He kept his voice quiet as he turned back to Jack. "But you know, you should tell him."

Jack shook his head slowly. "No." His tone had a note of finality to it. "I don't want him to know. I don't want him to know about the shit I did back then Bobby. He'll think it's some kind of an option, and right now, he's an overprotected, naïve kid. That's the way it needs to stay. As long as he don't think the drinking and drugs help, then he won't try it."

"Are you telling me it helped?" Bobby scowled.

"Yeah, actually, it did. I mean, it wasn't the answer, but when I was stoned I didn't feel shit. I didn't care." Jack shrugged his shoulders. "When I'd come back to the real world, it all seemed more intense, and more frightening. It made everything worse. You try to numb your feelings so that it doesn't hurt, but when the feelings do come back, they're magnified a hundred times and it takes more of the drugs to get back to that numb feeling. It's an ugly cycle to get into. I don't want him to try going down that road, do you?"

"Of course not, but he knows something is up with you. You need to come clean with him about it. Just because you fell into that shit don't mean he will." Bobby spoke quickly. "We damn sure won't let him." He added in an attempt to convince Jack. "But maybe if he knew everything you were dealing with he'd be able to deal a little better himself. You already told him some shit, right?"

"He's not going to find out about the rest of it Bobby. I don't want that. Please, don't push me on that?" Jack looked desperate. "I don't want him to know about the shit I did, and I damn sure don't want him to know I had any kind of connection to Adam Macks back then. I'm not proud of it, and it gives me nightmares. I don't want him to think he's doomed to feel like that for the rest of his life." Jack crushed the remains of his cigarette out in the ashtray. "I told him before that it gets better, and if he knows that it didn't get better for me right away, then he won't believe what I told him. Promise me you won't say anything to him."

Bobby sighed and nodded his head. "I ain't gonna tell him shit. It's your story to tell. I'm just saying that he's not stupid; he's a damn sight sharper than you might think. He knows there is something up with you, and I'm sure he thinks it has to do with him. He's gonna let his imagination run on him, he's good at that. You might just be setting yourself up for some problems that are harder to deal with than telling him the truth." Bobby shook his head. "Damn, if that didn't sound like Ma." He muttered.

Jack nodded his head. "Yeah, it did, and it makes sense. Maybe I'll tell him, sometime, but not now, not yet." Jack swallowed hard. "I'm not ready to yet, and I don't think he is either. Maybe after some time, after he's dealt with all this crap that's been dropped on him."

Both men stared at each other for a long moment before Bobby cleared his throat. "Okay, you fairy, you got food ready for us down there?"

Jack walked over to the bed and set the ashtray back in its place. "Yeah, I got food ready." He ignored the fairy remark and looked at Bobby.

"Good, I'll go get the kid and meet you at the table." Bobby walked out of the room, ready to let their conversation end for the moment. He planned on starting it up again later, when Craig was well out of earshot. He needed to try to talk some sense into Jack. The kid was carrying around guilt already, it was written all over his face. He couldn't stand the idea of Macks having that much control over any of his brothers, and he was going to make sure the man paid for everything he'd done.

He let Jack lead the way down the hall and watched his brother go down the stairs before he walked into the restroom. Craig was standing at the sink, combing his hair in the mirror. "You ready to go eat?"

Craig looked at Bobby, and initially seemed to want to say something, but he closed his mouth for a long moment. He finally nodded his head, "Yeah." He put down the comb and walked over to stand in front of his older brother.

Bobby studied him hard for a long moment. Had he heard their talk? It seemed there was more behind his eyes now than there had been a few minutes before. "You got something you want to say?" He asked the question slowly.

Craig shook his head. "No." He muttered, but he looked away from him, fixing his eyes on the wall.

Bobby held his breath for along moment, studying the expression on the teen's face, and thinking that maybe he should question him on what he'd heard while he had been at the door separating him from the private talk in Jack's room. He was about to speak when he heard Jack below them. "Come on already, the salad is on the table!" His voice sounded cheerful, and Bobby hoped that meant something he'd said to him had helped. He smiled at Craig; the boy seemed fine, well, as close to fine as he'd been before he'd gotten in the shower at least. He told himself that if Craig had heard anything it would show on him, everything showed on him. He was sure that Jack's secrets were still just that, secrets to keep hidden, at least for a little while longer. Maybe Jack had a point, maybe Craig wasn't ready to hear the whole truth about Jack's past, and even if Jack was wrong, well, it was still Jack's past and it was up to him to tell it.


	58. Chapter 58

Didn't think I was ever going to get this one up! Sorry for the delay, and as always thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! Thanks to all for the reviews!

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 58: Denial**

Craig sat in his chair at the table, picking at the salad Bobby had put in front of him. He hadn't had much of an appetite to start with, and after hearing the words coming out of Jack's room a short time before, a large rock had now settled in the pit his stomach. He hadn't heard everything, and he was trying to piece together what the words may have meant, but one thing was for certain, he'd hard Adam Macks' name, his name, and something about Jack doing drugs, and drinking. It made Craig feel sick inside, and while he tried to tell himself it was his imagination, part of him couldn't just pass it off as his own worries being about nothing.

Jack had been acting strange for a couple of days now, and it was obvious he was hiding something. He had felt something was off, and he'd had an idea that it had something to do with him. Connecting Jack with Adam Macks was more frightening than anything else.

How could Jack have known Adam? The only people who ever had contact with Adam Macks were drug addicts, drug dealers, or kids who had fallen between the cracks, tossed out by their parents; or runaways who were desperate for something more than what life had handed them. Kids on the streets forced to do whatever Adam Macks wanted them to do. Jack didn't fit into any of that, did he?

It hurt him, partly, but it pissed him off too, not just with Jack, but Bobby. If it was about his father then he had a right to be told didn't he? Had Jack worked with Adam? He'd heard bits and pieces of the broken conversation that referred to drugs, and it was sending his mind on a spiral of 'what ifs'. What if Jack had been selling drugs for Adam, or what if he'd been working for him, doing the same things Adam had made Craig himself do when he was small. Jack wouldn't do that, would he? Not by his own choice. He had told Craig how awful it had been for him when he was younger, how could he do anything close to that when he was older; when he had a family. It didn't make sense, but of course he was going by the few words he'd heard, and wasn't sure of the meaning of those words. He was playing the 'what if' game because he didn't know the truth.

Bobby and Jack were both pretty quiet as they ate, and Craig found himself glancing at Bobby, and then to Jack, to try to read their faces. He couldn't help but feel betrayed in some way, by both of them. He could feel the frustration building inside of him and he wanted to come right out and ask some questions, but he wasn't even sure what to ask. Besides, if he did ask, what would Bobby think about him listening in? He'd be pissed and he'd about all he could take of his brother getting pissed.

He knew he shouldn't have been listening the moment he heard his brothers talking. He had tried to ignore the conversation, and he'd had every intention of announcing his presence at the door, at first. Now he felt as if he were falling into a dark pit. All of this time his brothers had been telling him to trust them, but how could he when they didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth about something that had to be important? It was something big, and there was a hidden meaning to them leaving him out of their big secret.

That voice of reason that kept popping into his head when he was having the mental battle of wits with himself, was now pointing out that he knew none of that was possible, that his brothers had to have a reason. It was Jack's past, and maybe it had nothing to do with what was happening now. He knew there were things his brothers would never share with him; they had secrets that he was never going to know about, that was normal with every family, wasn't it? The other voice, the voice of the desperate, frightened child inside of him screamed out that this wasn't the same, he could feel it deep down, and this wasn't the same thing. He'd screwed up and let himself feel close to them all, especially Bobby, and it was going to come back on him and drag him down.

"You need to eat that Craig. We don't got time for you to poke around at it tonight. I want you in bed in twenty minutes." Bobby spoke up.

Craig realized he'd let his stare settle on his salad. He looked up at Bobby and poked at the lettuce again. The frustration was building, and despite the need he'd felt just a short time ago to feel Bobby's protection around him, he wished now that the man would just leave him alone. He wanted him to go away and leave him alone. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was tired of not knowing what to do or think. He didn't know what to expect from his brothers anymore. With Adam he at least knew the rules, and was able to stay in the boundaries of those rules. They were pretty simple really, don't think, don't feel, and don't care. It hadn't been pleasant, in fact, he hated the man for everything he'd ever done, but at least he knew what to expect, and what not to expect.

With his brothers it was different. He'd been so scared of not fitting in with them, that he'd worried about screwing up, and he had kept the walls up. He should have known not to let the walls down. He should have known that they would shatter all hopes he'd had of really being a part of their family. If he were a part of their family they would include him, maybe not in everything, but if it involved Adam Macks, then he should be included. He had a right to be included. It wasn't just this one time, with secrets about Adam and Jack, and whatever connection they might have had at one time. They had always pushed him away, always made it clear that he wasn't really one of them, he was just starting to realize it would never change, despite what Bobby had told him in the back of the police cruiser that very night. Maybe it was better if he didn't expect it, or want it. If he didn't want it then he couldn't be hurt when it didn't happen. He should have never let himself want it and he was quickly feeling like a fool for letting fall into that trap of being a part of a real family. The only real family that he ever had was Evelyn Mercer, and she was dead.

"Hey, did you hear me?" Bobby spoke calmly as he finished up his own salad.

Craig nodded his head and poked at the lettuce again.

"Craig?" Jack spoke quietly.

Craig didn't look up; he just nodded his head again. "I heard." He muttered, not wanting to give any sign of what was going through his mind at that moment.

"Well then eat." Bobby stood and carried his dish to the kitchen.

Jack sat back in his chair. His salad was finished, but he didn't look like he was in a big rush to leave the table. "Rough day, huh?" He spoke quietly.

Craig swallowed hard. "I guess." He still didn't look away from his own mix of lettuce, tomato and cucumber. He didn't want to talk to Jack. He wanted to be left to himself for a while.

"You have to be tired, I'm beat." Jack drew in a deep breath. "You know, I think maybe you and me could sleep down here, in the living room if you want. You can have the couch; I'll make up a bed on the floor." He spoke quietly. "We could put in one of those Harry Potter movies and watch that for a little bit. What do you think?"

Craig held a piece of lettuce up to his mouth. "You have a bed down here." He reminded and was tempted to point to the hospital bed in the corner of the dining room.

"I'm real tired of sleeping in that thing. It's not the most comfortable bed around. I'd much rather sleep on the floor. In fact, we could drag Angel's sleeping bag down and both of us could sleep on the floor." Jack leaned closer to the table, as if he was getting excited about the idea. "I can make some popcorn, and we can just lay there and watch the movie."

Bobby came back to the doorway. "He needs to sleep in a bed Jack." He was holding Craig's pills in his hands. "Come on kid, eat up." He stepped back to the table and sat down.

Craig nibbled on the lettuce, but it didn't taste good. He made a face but didn't utter a sound.

Bobby started to yawn, but tried to hide it. "You want a sandwich instead, peanut butter maybe?"

Craig shook his head slowly. "I'm not hungry." He muttered.

"We talked about this. You're gonna eat. Remember what I told you earlier? You need to do what I tell you Craig. I know you don't feel like eating, and I'm not asking you to eat a whole lot of fucking food here, just get some into your stomach so you can take your pills." Bobby watched him work on another piece of lettuce before turning back to Jack. "I wish Jerry or Angel would call."

Jack nodded his head. "Give it some time Bobby, they'll call." He spoke calmly. "You sent them on a mission to sneak into Green's room; it might take them a little time." He managed a short laugh.

Bobby let his elbows rest on the table and let his face rest in them. "I need to know what the hell to do." He spoke through his fingers.

Craig managed to get a few bites of the lettuce down before Bobby stood. "I'm gonna go call the hospital and find out what I can. I'll ask about Angel. Hell, maybe his head was hit harder than he let on." He walked back to the kitchen, leaving the pills lined up on the table.

Jack rested his head back. "They haven't been there that long, just be patient." He called out.

Bobby returned with the handset held up, studying it hard. "The light on this thing is flashing." He muttered.

Jack looked up at him. "We got a message on the machine?" He asked.

Bobby shrugged his shoulder. "You know how to work this shit?" He held the phone out to Jack, who took it and looked at it for a moment.

"Here it is; I'll put it on speaker phone." Jack muttered as he started hitting buttons.

The electronic voice of the answering machine came across the handset announcing one new message, and then a voice started to speak. "This message is for Bobby Mercer." The voice sounded nervous and quiet.

Craig felt his insides freeze up on him and he dropped his fork into his bowl as the voice continued to speak. "You let the kid talk to people, and that was not a good idea. What happened tonight is just the beginning. You need to re-evaluate your situation. He's going to contact you when the time is right, and when he does, there can be no police involved. If you don't want your family harmed in any way, you will follow his instructions. People who don't listen to him end up dead. People who try to turn on him end up dead. If you don't believe me then ask Jessup Winston." There was a sound of a click, and then a dial tone.

Jack had found his feet at sometime during the short message, and was standing on his them now, next to Bobby, both men staring at the phone. "Who the hell was that?" He asked quietly. The electronic voice announced the time of the call, seven pm.

"Jordan." Bobby's voice sounded tight and his jaw line was stiff, the muscles twitching slightly every second or two. He seemed to be struggling to keep his breathing even with his eyes still fixed on the phone. After what seemed an eternity he moved his focus from the phone to Craig, who felt as if he'd been slapped in the face at that moment. Jordan's voice brought back his time in his dark prison more vivid now than ever. It seemed to bring out more details of his time spent in that dark hole, on his knees in front of the man, being forced to do things that summoned bile up to his throat.

Apparently the feelings that were burning through the boy's veins at that moment were visible on the outside. Bobby drew in a deep breath and shook his head. "You don't worry about this. You got that? He ain't gonna do shit to anyone, we are gonna get him first." He was speaking to Craig, his voice calm, and quiet.

Craig stood and walked quickly to the living room, making his way for the stairs. He wanted to get away from the voice he'd just heard, that voice that had barked out instructions to him while he was cold and shivering, on his knees, in the dark. He wanted to get away from the feeling of not belonging. He wanted to be by himself, away from anyone else. He could feel the floor of the house vibrating under quick and heavy foot falls, and he was sure he heard Bobby saying something about stopping, but he pushed his legs harder.

He didn't want to be around Bobby or Jack at that moment. They were keeping secrets, putting walls up between him and them; blocking him out and leaving him alone, and he was scared and he was confused, and he was tired of always feeling so secluded when he was around them. He wanted his paper and pencil and he wanted to be alone. He wanted to fall back into the sanctuary of his own little world, with his own walls up. He felt more safe and more in control that way.

He stopped at the desk and pulled out his sketchpad and charcoal pencil. He could feel Bobby coming through the room behind him, his boots vibrating on the floor boards.

"Craig, wait." Bobby was right there when he turned to move towards the stairs in the foyer. "You need to calm down." He reached for him

"Don't touch me." Craig pulled back from the man, cringing at the thought feeling anyone's touch at that moment. "Just leave me alone." He wasn't sure if it was the sound of his voice, or if his feelings projected out like an invisible signal, but Bobby drew back from him. "I'm fine." He lied quickly. If his brothers could lie to him, he could lie to them.

"Okay, no touching." Bobby held his hands up as if he were surrendering. "But you can't run from this. You gotta trust me, I ain't gonna let anyone hurt you or any of my brothers. You got that?" Bobby didn't step back to clear the path for his escape. He stood there as if he were waiting for an answer. "You gotta trust me kid."

Craig stared at Bobby, not sure what he was supposed to say at that moment. He shook his head slowly. "I don't have to trust anyone." He felt the words spill out as tears choked at him. "Just leave me alone." He pushed forward with no warning and apparently caught Bobby off guard, making it past him with little trouble. He reached the bottom of the stairs and ran up them quickly; heading to his own room for the first time in what seemed an eternity. He hit the light switch on the wall and let the door close hard behind him. He let his body fall back against the door and let the tears fall. He reached with his left hand and locked the door without looking down.

He felt as if his entire world had shattered around him, and though that voice of reason, the one that seemed to know more than he did, was telling him he needed to go back to Bobby and tell him everything he was thinking and feeling; the other voice, the one that was so frightened was telling him that he couldn't trust Bobby. He had let himself fall into that trap and he couldn't do it again. He could only count on himself, no one else. Bobby Mercer wasn't his father, Adam Macks was, and all the pretending didn't change that in anyway.

He half expected to hear Bobby's boots hitting the steps and pounding on the other side of the door accompanied by Bobby yelling at him to open it and let him in. There was silence.

* * *

Bobby stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching Craig running to his room. He started to follow, but something stopped him. He felt his chest constrict on him, and he felt the rage inside of him burning hot. He was gonna kill Macks for doing this. He'd managed to drag the kid right back down, and it hadn't even been his voice on the phone. It was as if the entire past week of progress had been wiped away, and Craig was throwing walls back up. His first instinct was to run after him and grab hold of him and tell him he loved him and he was going to fix everything, but he'd done all of that and he'd told him he was going to make it better. He needed to let the kid absorb it and trust in it.

The look in Craig's eyes when he'd told him not to touch him was burned into his memory. He'd been afraid of Bobby's touch, and it was the first time he'd seen that look in the kid's eyes, that look of mistrust and uncertainty.

Jack joined him at the bottom of the stairs. "Aren't you going after him?" He asked.

"Not yet. Give him a few minutes." Bobby shook his head. "Damn that son of a bitch." Bobby shook his head and turned back to the bedroom. "He can't just come after me, and face me like a fucking man, he has to play games. He's good at playing the mind games. I can take it, and so can Jerry and Angel, hell, even you can take it, but that kid can't. He's lived too much of his life trapped in that man's games, and he can't deal with it."

"You sure that's all that was?" Jack asked as he followed Bobby.

"What do you mean am I sure that was all that was? You saw the look on his face as soon as he heard Jordan's voice on the phone." Bobby turned to face Jack.

"He wasn't acting right before that, and you know it." Jack challenged.

Bobby heard the words, and he knew Jack was right, the kid hadn't been acting right since he'd come down to eat. He knew exactly what Jack was trying to say. He shook his head. "What do you think Jack, that he heard us talking earlier?" He prayed Jack would argue with him and give him a reason to think otherwise, but he was sure the conversation between he'd had with Jack had been overheard by Craig.

"He heard enough, I think." Jack sighed and walked over to the couch to sit down. "Damn it." He raised his feet and let them drop onto the coffee table. "I fucked up, again." He shook his head.

"We don't know that he heard shit. He's tired, he's scared, and he's confused. He heard Jordan's voice and it was enough to send him over the edge." Bobby fought to keep his voice at a level that wouldn't reach upstairs. "But you think about how you feel right now little brother, because if you don't talk to him yourself and tell him the truth, he's liable to find out some other way and it's gonna be harder to deal with then, now ain't it?" He had found his own argument to deny the fact that Craig may have heard anything that he shouldn't have.

Jack looked at Bobby, and it seemed he was thinking about his words. "Maybe, I just need a little more time." He finally nodded his head.

"Good. I'll just give him a few minutes; I'll go up after he's had a chance to settle down a little." Bobby walked over and dropped onto the couch next to Jack.

"You just don't want to deal with it right now, right?" Jack looked at Bobby. "You need to stick with what you've been doing Bobby. He's going to expect you to come up there."

"I get the feeling that right now my barging in on him would hurt worse than waiting." Bobby thought about the look on Craig's face when he'd reached for him and it ripped at his heart. "I'll talk with him. I'll deal with it, but I just think that right now he needs some time to think about what he's scared of and realize it's not me. It's something he has to realize himself." He rested his head back on the couch and looked over to meet Jack's gaze. "He was scared of me Jack. He acted like he thought I was gonna hurt him, and I can't deal with seeing that again, not yet."

Jack shook his head. "He knows you aren't the one he's afraid of Bobby, and you're breaking your own rules here, letting him hide out upstairs by himself, how is he gonna see that?"

"I ain't leaving him up there forever, just for a little bit. Let him calm down, man, he's got his paper and that means he wants to let some shit out. I'll go up and look at his pictures and we'll talk about them, and then we'll both feel better." At least he prayed that was how it was going to work out. He didn't know how much longer he could handle the kid falling back into the old shit. He didn't know if he could keep dragging the boy back out of the fog he seemed to fall into every time things got hard, but he would manage it somehow. As important as Craig was, he was sure that he was never going to be able to put an end to the kid's problems until Macks was dead and buried, and gone for good. That meant they had to get some kind of plan in mind. Even if it was only a rough draft of what they were going to do; in order to do that he needed to hear back from Jerry and Angel, and soon.


	59. Chapter 59

Thanks for all the reviews :) I appreciate every single one of them! Let me know what you think about this one, and thank to everyone for reading!

Legal stuff goes here, and it still applies :)

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Chapter 59: A Long Night

Craig stayed at the door for a long time, listening for any sounds on the steps. He looked around the room, and tried to remember the safety that small room had surrounded him with for so long. He loved that room. It was the first room he'd ever had that was really his. It had been small, and cramped, but it had been just right for him. Small meant no one could hide in the dark corners and grab hold of him as soon as his mom tucked him. Small meant that it wasn't far to the door when he had a nightmare and needed to run to his mother's room for comfort. Small meant safe and warm and clean. He walked to the bed after what seemed forever and sat down. He looked at the sketchpad in front of him and let his fingers play with the edge of the pad. He'd grabbed it because he'd felt images bursting to get out of his head, but now that he was in his room he wasn't sure he wanted to venture into the pictures that his brain was holding.

He dropped the pad on the bed and lay down on his side, resting into his pillow and looking at the dresser on the opposite wall. He liked the way the wood grain played in the light and seemed to transform from dark brown to red with from different angles. He remembered when Evelyn had told him the dresser was his and he could put all of his clothes in the drawers. Of course he hadn't many clothes at the time, not like now. Evelyn had purchased the small metal rack in the corner to hold what clothes the dresser couldn't.

He remembered how his adoptive mother had managed to make him feel special. He had felt like a king and had thought of that very house as being a castle. He had more in that small room than he'd ever had before in his entire life. The only thing that he really wanted for back then was to be noticed by his brothers.

He thought about the box under his bed, where he had hidden so many of his most prized possessions when he was younger. He sat up and dropped his feet back to the floor, leaning straight over to locate the box. He reached under the bed and slid the box out to rest between his legs. He reached down and picked up the toy cars and army men. Jerry had given him the cars one year, and he'd found the army men not long after Evelyn had become his foster mother. He'd asked her about them and she said they were Angel's. He was going to ask Angel if he could have them, but back then his brothers didn't talk to him much unless it was to tell him to get the hell away from them. He had hidden them in the box, and would pull them out at night when he got scared. He'd put them under his pillow and somehow it kept the nightmares at bay, most of the time anyway. He would dream of Adam Macks trying to get in the door and his mind would pull the tiny green soldiers into the dream. They would fight Adam off and keep him safe.

He had played with the cars a few times, drawing pictures of roads on the back of wrapping paper and laying them out on his bedroom floor. Evelyn hadn't understood what had happened to all of her rolls of gift wrap until she found the drawings rolled up neatly under his bed one day. He had been sure he was in trouble, but she just smiled at him and told him that next time he should ask first. She had gone out and found some large poster boards for him to turn into his own mind's fantasy freeway. He'd spent more time drawing the roads and landscapes out than he did driving the cars around on them, but it had been his roads, his world, in his room, and he'd been the happiest eight year old alive.

He turned and slid the army men under his pillow. It might have been foolish, but he couldn't help but feel a need to be seven or eight years old again, and be able to believe now what he'd believed then. He wanted so badly to believe tiny green army men could come to life and fight off the monsters in his head. He wanted to believe that he could draw other worlds on poster board and drive right into them with tiny cars, to hide from that same monster. He turned and set the small cars on the window sill above his bed.

He returned to the box and pulled out the C.D Jack had given him. He hadn't opened it, because he was afraid to. He was afraid if he opened it and tried to play it that it would end up lost or he would break it. It wasn't a normal worry, he knew that. He wasn't one to listen to much music though, except on the radio, and was afraid that if he didn't keep it in the box it would disappear and he'd never haveit again.

The small red ball had originally been attached to a wooden paddle. He hadn't liked the paddle. He had pulled the ball off of elastic band holding it prisoner, feeling as if he'd liberated it, much in the same way he'd felt he'd been set free of Adam Macks. Only now, Adam was back. He had freed the ball, and there was never going to be any string holding it against its will again, but Adam had come back and he could feel the man taking hold of him. Not in any real physical way, but the string was there, deceivingly invisible and strong. He held the ball up and stared at it for along moment. The tiny holes from the staple that had held the elastic band in place were still visible on one side. He absentmindedly reached around to feel the scar that was on his back while his mind wandered around in the memories of being at his father's mercy.

He finally sighed and wiped at the tears that were still running down his face. He reached out and slid the ball under his pillow, thinking somehow the small green army men could keep it safe. He looked back down into the empty box. He'd had so little and yet it seemed like real treasure to him. He used his foot to kick the box back under the bed, and when it hit something he remembered the shoe box that was resting on the floor.

He didn't bother to root for the shoes, but his mind plunged into that warm feeling that had washed over him when he'd received those shoes from Bobby. He remembered the words Bobby had spoken to him earlier that night in the back of the police cruiser. He'd told him he had been scared of him, and that he hadn't known what he was supposed to say to him or do with him but that he hadn't hated him. It had helped him in the car. It had made sense then, but not so much now. He was trying to hold onto the words, and believe them but it seemed the longer he let everything roll around in his head the more confused and lost he felt.

How could he believe anything any of his brothers told him? They had been lying to him. Jack, the one person he thought could understand how he was feeling more than anyone else had known his father. It seemed to shatter the picture his mind had formed of how his life with his brothers could be. Everything he'd been allowing himself to believe was a lie, and that meant that the hope he'd held at finally being a real Mercer, finally feeling safe and whole, was nothing more than a fantasy, a little like the toy soldiers and cars that had been so special to him when he was little.

It seemed there was only one thing in his life that had ever been real, or true, and he missed it, and yearned for it. He stood long enough to pull the mattress away from the box springs and slid the stuffed rabbit out from its hiding place. It was nearly flat from being tucked under the safety of the mattress for so long. He held it close to him as he kicked off his shoes. He crawled onto the bed, on top of the covers and held the blue and white rabbit over his heart. Its fur had once been shiny and smooth, but he'd slept with it for so many years that he'd worn most of the fur off, leaving bare spaces in the material. The rabbit had been the first birthday present Evelyn Mercer had ever given him. The first birthday present anyone had ever given him. She'd been the first person to ever like him enough to give him a birthday and make him feel as if he mattered for anything.

It had happened at St. Vincent's and she'd had to tell him what a birthday was, but once he understood what it meant, he'd felt in awe that she wanted to celebrate him being there, in the world, and for the first time in his seven years he'd felt like he really mattered to someone. That was all he wanted now, to feel as if someone was really happy that he was there. He'd thought Bobby did, but Bobby was lying to him about other things, and now it built on the doubts he'd been struggling with half of his life. He was terrified that everything Bobby had been telling him was nothing more than a lie, some kind of game that was being played.

He was used to games; that's what his entire life with Adam Macks had been made up of, one sick game after another. He was tired of games, and tired of the same fears and doubts that were creeping back in. He wanted to block it all out, and forget about it, at least for a little while. His body felt heavy, and his mind was tired, and he wanted to stop thinking about all the bad things that had happened that day, or that week, or that month, or his entire life. He had thought that being with his brothers was getting easier, and that he finally belonged there, with them. It had been better. He'd felt comfortable, and more at ease, though it was all new and a little scary. He was learning to live with Bobby, Angel, Jack and Jerry as real brothers, but it seemed that had all started to crumble apart the second he'd walked into Porter's office that morning. He wished he could go back in time and undo the whole day. He wanted to go back to before he'd walked into Porter's office. Back to when things were getting better and he wasn't feeling so scared and alone.

He wiped at the tears again and rolled onto his side, facing the door. He let his eyes close and he tried to picture Evelyn in his mind, maybe he could bring her back, in his head, and she could make everything alright. His exhausted brain was more than willing to drift away with the memories of her smile, and her voice. Her scent wafted around him and he clung tighter to the small rabbit.

* * *

Bobby watched as Jack turned on the television and started flicking the channels. He looked at his watch and then glanced through the doorway to the stairs. He wanted to give the kid a few minutes, but his gut was tying up in knots trying to wait. His mind kept picturing the look in the Craig's eyes. He had come to be able to read those eyes so well that it was scary. He drew in a deep breath and let himself try to think like Craig would be thinking at that moment.

He had to remember that unlike himself Craig wouldn't be ready to strike out and beat the shit out of someone right now, he was a kid, and he'd had too much thrown at him all at once. He'd do what he did all of the time; he'd hide in his own little shell for as long as Bobby let him. It was a pattern that was becoming far too obvious and the man needed to figure out how to pull him out of that cycle so that even when shit hit the fan he could at least deal with it in a half normal way. He'd thought that he'd managed to get through to him in some way already, but now he wasn't so sure. The kid had looked at him as if he was poison, and the only explanation was that he'd heard the conversation upstairs. No matter how much Bobby wished it wasn't true or tried to blame the threatening message Jordan had left on the phone, he knew deep down that the boy had heard some part of the talk he'd had with Jack, if not most or all of it.

"Why don't you go see if you can talk to him?" Jack asked.

Bobby looked at Jack to find his brother staring at him. "Why don't you go tell him the truth?" He asked quietly.

Jack stared at him for a long moment. "I told you…" He started to speak.

"Jack, I hope to hell he didn't hear a word that was said upstairs, and I'm trying hard to make myself believe that he didn't, but you and I both know different. If I try to talk to him about it he's gonna think it's nothing but bullshit. He's thinking that right now probably, that we're laying out bull for him and he's scared shitless." Bobby spoke quickly. "He has to be told the truth and it has to come from you. I know why you don't want him to know all about what you did before, I get that, and he will too, if you tell him enough of it that he understands. He don't gotta know all the details, but he already knows we're hiding shit from him. To be honest, if I was him, I wouldn't trust a fucking thing either of us said until I was told the truth, or at least enough of it to make some sense." He hoped Jack would understand how important it was. "You of all people know what it's like to not trust people Jack. You didn't trust anyone for a long time."

Jack seemed to cringe inside. He turned and looked at the television for a long moment. "Fuck." He stood with no warning. "Okay, I'll go up. But if he ends up hating me I'm blaming you." He sounded miserable.

Bobby stood and blocked his path. "He ain't gonna hate you for telling him the truth." He spoke the words carefully. "But if you keep hiding it from him, he might."

Jack clenched his teeth. "Bobby, I just don't want him to discover how easy it is to hide in the drugs. I don't want him to discover it, and if he knows I didn't deal with shit for a long time, then he might be too afraid to deal with it at all. Do you understand that?" He asked quietly, and he looked terrified.

Bobby reached out and put a hand on Jack's shoulders. "Jack, don't tell him all of it, but you gotta be straight up about some shit with him. You gotta come right out and tell him there are some things you can't share with him, because you aren't ready to. You keep saying you know how he feels, and how hard it is for him. He can relate to you because you've been through the same shit. Don't you think that Craig will understand you not wanting to tell him everything or that you still get scared? It's a two way street. If you want him to trust you; you gotta show him you trust him, just a little, right?" He prayed he said the words right. It wasn't as if he had ever been all that good at pep talks. He was channeling words he'd heard his mother say to him over the years when she'd try to tell him how he was screwing up with one or all of his brothers. He was piecing together a hundred different conversations to make them fit now.

Jack stared at him in a long moment of silence. "When did you get to fucking philosophical?"

"Aw hell Jack, I keep it in my back pocket, right next to my book on finesse." Bobby scowled at him. "Now get the hell out of here, and go talk to him. I'll give you ten minutes." He dropped back down on the couch.

Jack returned the frown and started to walk towards the stairs. He'd barely reached the foyer when the front door opened and Angel stomped his feet on the mat at the door, to empty what little snow he'd tracked in on his boots, while he pulled his key out of the lock. Jerry was close behind him, and Sofi and Camille filed in after the men.

Bobby's feet hit the floor. "What the hell took you guys so long? Couldn't one of you have called? How's Green? Did you get to see him? Was he able to tell you anything about how he was shot? Did you tell him about the fire and Macks?" He could feel more questions forming, but Angel held his hand up to silence him.

"Shut the fuck up long enough and we might be able to actually answer some your questions." Angel dropped his keys into his pants pocket. "We got food? We're starving." He looked from Bobby to Jack.

Bobby sighed, holding his patience for the moment at least. He could tell this was night was far from over.

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Jeff Jones walked into the back door of Jordan's house and looked at the neat and tidy kitchen. Jordan had been busy cleaning, that was obvious. He inhaled and was sure he could smell the remnants of a meal aloft in the air around him. He smiled at the thought of some food. He was hungry. It was late, and he hadn't had anything to eat since that afternoon, when he'd set out to put his plan into action. He strained his ears for any sounds in the house. It was silent. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled the door open. "Bradley, my dear friend, did you eat all of the food?" He called out.

He could see the roast, potatoes and carrots in a dish on the top shelf. He started to reach for it, but a strange sound reached his ears; a faint sound, but one that was unfamiliar to him, yet alarming. He pushed the refrigerator closed and strolled through the house, trying to tell himself he was feeling fidgety because of his shitty night. The pervert wasn't on the computer, but the desk had been cleaned an apparently polished. He wasn't in the living room, and oddly enough the room had been picked up and dusted. It looked as if it had been swept and every item in it was neatly placed. Jones worked his way back the hallway. The bedroom light was on, and the whirring sound of a strained electric motor seemed to fill the space between him and the bedroom. He was confused by the odd shadow that was being cast onto the hall floor through the bedroom door. He reached the door and found Jordan's body hanging from the ceiling fan fixture, the blades were jammed by the man's attempt to hang his self; the motor was forced to struggle against the weight it was trying to spin around. His legs were still twitching and his hands were gripping the bed sheet he'd used as a makeshift rope.

Jones walked up to stand in front of Jordan's struggling body. "That is not a pleasant way to go die, Jordan." He spoke quietly and shook his head. "What did you do, stand on the edge of the bed and just take that final step into waht you thought would be a quick death?" He looked up at the man's face, and peered into the agony etched there. "If you wanted to kill yourself, I would have given you a gun. I'm a better friend than you think. I didn't want you suffer when you finally died. I wanted it to be quick, and painless. I truly did." He studied the man for a long moment. He seemed to be growing weak, and his hands couldn't quite grasp the sheet.

Jones sighed and walked up to him to grab his legs and push them back so that his feet could support his body on the bed. "I can't have you dying on me yet Brad." He spoke in a calm tone. "I need you. I haven't finished with you yet. If you want to die so badly, then I'll make sure that happens, but not yet. You still serve a purpose for me. If your heart stops, that little alarm on your ankle will alert he police, now won't it my friend." He managed to climb up on the bed and loosen the sheet Jordan had tied around his throat. He let the man fall to the bed, gasping for air.

Tears ran down Jordan's flushed face, his eyes looked bloodshot and drool seemed to spill from between his lips. "I can't do this anymore." He gasped out the words after several gulps of air had managed to reach his lungs.

"Sure you can." Jones climbed down from the bed and looked at the man, part of him felt pity for the fool, the other half of him, the one named Adam Macks felt rage that Jordan actually thought he'd be able to escape him so easily. "You don't want to die like this Brad." Jones shook his head. "Believe me, it's not the choking that that kills you, it's the lack of blood flow to the brain. It's a slow and agonizing death. You do not want to die at all, not really. You just don't know any other way out of the hole you've dug yourself into, right?" He sat on the bed, keeping his voice pleasant. "You might just be surprised at how easily you can get out of this mess you've made for yourself, but you have to trust me." He looked Jordan in the eyes, wondering if the idiot would actually fall for it. "I've told you I can get you out of this. Do you trust me or not?"

"You son of a bitch, you got me into this mess. If I hadn't let you blackmail me, I wouldn't be here now." Jordan held his hands protectively around his own throat as his voice squeaked out, sounding as if he were in pain.

"Brad, be honest with yourself, now you have enjoyed this time with me more than you ever thought possible, haven't you?" Jones couldn't stop the laugh. "You've had action, and adventure. You've had your way with my son, and you loved every fucking second of it." Macks tried to worm his way out into the open with the last statement, but Jones pushed him back.

Jordan kept his gaze on him, still looking frightened. "I have nothing left. My family is gone."

"Look, you think you have lost everything, don't you? Your wife is gone, and she's taken your lovely daughters away from you. That must be very hard. I know exactly how you feel. I had my son stolen from me. I know better than anyone what you are feeling now. But you can never give up. You have to stay strong. I'm going to teach you how to stay strong, Brad. You have no fight in you at all right now, do you?" He leaned over and put his face close to Jordan's. "You see that is the difference between you and me. I know what and who I am. I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to go after it. You would go to stupid measures like this, and what would it get for you? You know what people would say about you if you did this? They would say you were guilty of everything the cops and prosecutors have said about you. They would forget about you in less than a week, and you would be nothing more than a fucking joke, to be mocked and laughed at. Is that what you want? I mean, you are worth more than that; aren't you?" He was taking pleasure in hearing his own voice, listening to the way he was leading the broken man next to him. He had to admit, he was good. He was much better at this than Macks.

"You're going to kill me when you're through with this sick game of yours. You're planning to kill me already. I know you are." Jordan sounded almost like a small child, crying in fear.

"Of course I am, Brad. I'm going to put a bullet right here." Jones held his finger up and pressed it to the center of Jordan's forehead. "If that's what you want." He added the last part quickly.

"That's not what I want. I don't want to die." Jordan's voice trembled. "I just want this whole nightmare to end."

"Well, it's not going to end if you don't do your part Brad. You're taking the coward's way out by trying something stupid like this." Macks held the sheet up into Jordan's line of sight. "Now, I can't have that, so we need to come to an understanding. If you want to die, I will take care of that when the time comes. You have some time to think about it. In the mean time, once you've got your shit together here, I want my dinner on the table." Jones stood and wadded the sheet up in his hands. "I'll put the sheets up where they can't be so tempting to you. While I'm at it, I'll hide all the knives as well."

Jones walked out of the room, leaving Jordan whimpering on the bed. He would give him ten minutes, about the time it would take him to get a good start on a bottle of whiskey. If he hadn't come out of the room by then he'd go back and drag his ass out to the kitchen. This was not something he needed to deal with, not tonight. Too much had gone wrong for him today, and this was just the icing on the cake for him. He had to have some time to think about his situation, he didn't have time to sweet talk an idiot into keeping himself alive for a little while longer. He would have to take measures to ensure Jordan didn't try anything stupid like that again. He was sure this night was going to drag out forever.


	60. Chapter 60

Thank God it's Friday, I didn't think this week would ever end!!! Let me know what you think, and thanks to everyone who reviewed! :)

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 60: Have We Got A Plan?**

Bobby watched as Sofi and Camille headed to the kitchen to find some food. He turned back to Angel and Jerry. "Okay, fine, you two go get something to eat. Once your tummies are all nice and full we got business to take care of." He spoke mockingly, but he relented to his brothers' need to eat.

"Bobby, it's late, man, we don't gotta do this shit tonight." Jerry complained as he turned to walk into the living room. "Where is Craig?" He asked as he made his way to one of the chairs and dropped into it with a dramatic flourish, obviously trying to display to the rest of the world he was exhausted.

"You ain't the only one tired Jerry. We need to get some shit straight and it needs to happen tonight" Bobby looked him hard in the eyes for a long moment before turning back to Jack. "You're goin' up there or not?" He asked as he pointed towards the stairs.

"Yeah, I'm going." Jack muttered, though he didn't look as if he wanted to leave, especially now that Angel and Jerry were back.

"Well move it. You got until they're done eating. I'll come and check on both of you in ten minutes." Bobby turned away from Jack, but he listened for his feet to hit the stairs. He looked at Angel and Jerry both, wanting to speak, but not willing to give in to Jack's hesitation. He breathed a sigh of relief when Jack finally moved up the stairs, and he pointed for Angel to sit. "We had a phone call." He announced. "A message left on the fucking phone really." He muttered.

Angel seemed interested in Bobby's words, though he didn't actually speak. He stepped past Bobby and sat down on the free chair. Bobby half noticed the doctor's outfits his brothers were both sporting, and he wanted to ask about them, but first he needed to fill them in on the message Jordan had left on the house phone in their absence. He moved himself to the coffee table and took it up as a makeshift chair. He looked at Jerry and opened his mouth to start talking, when his eyes fell on the cloud and rabbit design spotting the front of Jerry's blue jacket. "What the fuck is that supposed to be? You got something you want to share with your brothers little sister?" He scowled.

Jerry looked down at himself as if he'd been caught off guard. "Shit." He hurriedly stripped the offending jacket off. "We dressed up like doctors to get into Green's room, man, that's all." He frowned at Angel and threw the blue jacket at him.

Bobby had to laugh at the action. "Well what kind of fucking doctor were you supposed to be? Didn't it cross your mind to take it off when you left the hospital? Damn, you had me worried for a minute. I thought for sure I was gonna have to break some news to Camille." He looked at Angel, and could see the look of mischief on his face. He knew Angel had set Jerry up, and part of him wished he could have seen the whole thing. Another part of him felt sorry for Jerry, well, almost sorry. Hell, the man probably walked his sorry ass right into that one, and he was sure Angel would tell him all about it later, when they had the time to mull over the useless facts. Right now, he had too much he had to get done. He opened his mouth to speak again, ready to get down to the important business at hand, but was interrupted when Jack walked into the living room.

"The door is locked." He announced a little louder than he needed to. "And when I tried to call to him through the door he didn't answer."

Bobby looked up at Jack as his words sunk in. "Shit." He muttered.

"What's goin' on Bobby?" Angel asked the words quietly while carefully pulling the ugly green cap off of his head.

Bobby closed his eyes and shook his head. "Jack, you tell them what's goin' on, and I'll go see if I can pry the kid out of that room." He stood and started for the stairs.

"You tellin' me he's hidin' away up there and you let him do it?" Angel asked quickly. "What the hell is wrong with you? You can't let him out of your sight right now."

Bobby drew in a deep breath and looked at Angel as he stepped past him. "Hell, Angel, I don't know, I guess I'm just losing my fucking mind, letting the kid go up and sit in his room for a few minutes." He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, though he knew Angel was just as worried and frustrated as he was. He wanted nothing more than to sit there with his brothers and figure out what the hell they were gonna do to take care of the problem hanging over their heads, the problem with the name of Macks. He let his lungs empty with a sigh. "It ain't gone all that fucking great since we got home, okay?" He managed to say the words with a little less strain to them.

"You don't think he would have gone out the window, do you?" Jack spoke quietly. "You know how he likes to wonder off sometimes, and be by himself."

Bobby's head snapped back to Jack's direction. "Hell no," He muttered the words and took long strides towards the stairs. "He can't go out that window, he'd kill himself." He spoke as he realized Craig's room ran along the side of the house. There was no porch roof outside his window. He was at the top of the stairs when he realized Jack, Angel and Jerry were right behind him. He turned and gave all three a hard look. "What, you think I can't handle getting one door open?" He asked.

"Well, we do know how you are, and you might go to some extremes. No need to bust the thing in, you know?" Jerry asked with a serious tone. "That lock on the handle does have a key." He gave quick nod towards the door Craig was hiding behind.

"Yeah, and I got one big ass foot." Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "So which one do you think will open it faster?" He spoke with the hard tone he'd spent years perfecting, but it still seemed to have no effect on his brothers, all three looked at him as if he were over reacting.

"Man, he's probably just asleep, I mean, he was wore out, right?" Angel asked.

"It's more than what's gone down today; we had a phone message from Jordan, on the house phone." Jack cleared his throat. "He didn't take it too well." He looked pointedly at Angel.

"Yeah, he couldn't handle it. And we think he heard me and Jack talking about some shit too." Bobby spoke up quickly, not wanting Jack to get out of his talk with Craig so easily. "You are still gonna talk to him Jack, and you're gonna tell him enough that he ain't making shit up in his head. You got that?" He knew Jack was about to argue, maybe say he would have his talk with him later, after they'd had a chance to sit and talk with Jerry and Angel about what they were going to do about Macks, but he turned away from him before he could say the words. He stepped over to the door and tried the handle as if it might turn miraculously under his hand, but it didn't. He drew in a deep breath and tapped on the wooden barrier. "Craig?" He called out. "Craig, open the door." He managed to keep his voice calm. "You ain't supposed to be locking doors, you know that. Now open the door and we can talk. I know you're upset, but you can't hide in there like that."

He was met with silence.

"Craig." Jerry stepped up next to him and called out. "Come on, open the door kid. No one is angry, we just want to make sure your'e okay." He spoke just as calm as Bobby.

"This is bullshit." Angel spoke from behind them. "We need to just let him be. He ain't goin' nowhere, unless he comes out that door, and eventually he's gonna have to take a piss, so just wait him out." He looked irritated.

"What? You know how he is Angel, he's gonna sit in there and get his self all worked up about shit. He's gonna have nightmares, and he'll scratch the shit out of himself." Bobby looked back at the man who was leaning on the wall.

"I think he's asleep, and that you all are making fools out of yourselves right now, because he ain't hearing a fucking word coming out of your mouths. If you ask me, he had the right idea too. We all need to sleep; we're too tired to be trying to plan out anything worthwhile." Angel looked at Bobby straight on. "You can't shield him from shit forever Bobby. He's got to deal with some things his own way and you gotta let go a little bit and let him do that." He turned and started back down the stairs.

Bobby sighed and looked at Jerry. "Where's the key?" He asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Jerry shrugged his shoulders.

Bobby gave Jerry a slight push to get him out of the way before pulling his leg up to give the door a hard kick.

"That's a stupid idea." Jack spoke up before Bobby could kick the door in. "Let me see that." He pushed in between Bobby and the door and looked at the handle. "Go get one of Mom's bobby pins." He looked at Jerry and then to Bobby. He sighed when he realized neither one of the men were going to fill his request, "It's one of those cheap sets, it don't take an actual key, it uses an allen wrench, or anything close to one; they're pretty easy to open without busting the door in." He let his gaze hang on Bobby for a long moment as if to let him know he was directing the last part of his statement to him.

"Well, hell, this will work." Jerry dug into his pants pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a pocket knife. He handed it to Jack who studied it for a moment before looking up at him.

"Leave it to you to have a pocket knife full of fucking screwdrivers." He shook his head and opened one of the heads of the tool. "This will work." He turned back to the knob and seconds later he was turning the handle to open the door.

Bobby leaned around Jack and looked into the room. Sure enough, Angel had been right. Craig was lying on his side on the bed, sound asleep. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief, which was met with a quiet chuckle from Jerry.

"Just leave the door open and let him sleep." Jerry looked at Bobby. "I'm gonna go see if there's any food ready." He turned and walked away.

Jack leaned on the door jam and stared at the teen. "He's asleep Bobby." He commented on the obvious.

"Yeah, I see that Jack." Bobby didn't look to the only brother still standing with him at that moment; he kept his eyes fixed on the boy.

"You're not gonna wake him up, are you?" Jack kept his voice quiet.

"No, Jack, I ain't gonna wake him up." Bobby did feel relieved, but he was a little confused. He hadn't expected the kid to be in a deep slumber; he'd been sure a crisis would be waiting for them behind the door. He had been convinced that the kid would be breaking apart on him and falling back into the old cycle of struggling with the emotions inside without letting them out, but he was curled up on the bed, sleeping more peacefully than he had in weeks.

"Guess my talk can wait then?" Jack sounded as relieved as Bobby felt.

Bobby managed a small smile and looked up at Jack. "Yeah, I guess so." He nodded his head and watched as Jack walked away from the door, looking much less stressed than he had a few minutes before. Maybe morning would be better for Jack and Craig to have their talk. Craig did seem to be sleeping pretty deep. Bobby turned back to Craig, studying his features for a long moment before walking the few steps to his bed. He nearly tripped over the empty box at his feet as he lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress.

He remembered the box, he and Angel had found it a few weeks earlier, when Sweet had Craig. Bobby looked into the empty space and wondered where the contents might have ended up. When he turned his attention back to the boy on the bed he noticed the small cars on the window sill, lined up as if they were on some sort of guard duty. When he gave Craig's form his full attention he realized the kid was clutching onto a small blue and white stuffed animal. He leaned closer to get a better look, but didn't reach for it. He didn't want to startle him. He seemed to be sleeping better than he had for a long time, despite the tear streaks marking up his cheeks.

He remembered the kid had carried something similar to that stuffed toy around when he was smaller. He'd tried to find it when he was gathering the clothes up for him during the Sweet nightmare, but hadn't been able to locate it. "So where in the hell did you have that thing hiding?" He let his voice speak softly as he looked at the tiny room. He thought he'd looked in every possible hiding place before, but he hadn't located the thing. He was glad the kid had it, but he was a little concerned that he was clutching onto it as if he were a small child again. He was fourteen, and Bobby wasn't so sure if clinging to an old stuffed toy was a good sign. He wasn't seven years old anymore, and he needed to deal with shit, not hide from it by letting his emotional age revert back to an earlier level.

He wondered if it could really hurt, for the time being, to just let him hide in the security of a tiny stuffed animal. Maybe it was a good thing, at least for now. If the kid wasn't falling apart then he wouldn't have to worry so much about him while trying to deal with the Macks problem. He needed to get rid of Mack once and for all so the kid would know he was safe, and then they could work on the rest of the problems and make real progress. He was getting tired of getting just so far with the kid and then having him sucked back into the same pain and confusion that seemed to creep in with the slightest challenge that came up for him.

He could leave him be for now, and let him get some real rest for however long it lasted. He could use this time to make some plans and figure out what their next move was going to be. He stood and walked to the door. He left the light on, and he left the door standing open after him. It seemed his feet picked up dead weight as they moved down the stairs. He had to force himself to keep putting distance between him and his baby brother. He would have preferred to stay in the room with him in case the dreams started to take over his sleep. He couldn't stand the thought of the kid having more nightmares, though he was sure that after that day his dreams would get worse.

Bobby found his brothers sitting around the dining room table with Sofi and Camille. Angel and Sofi were filling Jack in on the reason for Jerry's interesting choice in doctor's uniforms in between laughing. "So, you weren't dressed as a doctor, you were dressed as a nurse." Jack nodded his head as Bobby approached the table to take his seat.

"You know all about that don't you fairy?" Bobby muttered as he looked at Jack.

"Don't start." Jack's smile dropped immediately. "Not now, just let it go." He spoke quietly.

Bobby stared at his brother for a long moment and realized he just didn't have it in him to start harassing his little brother at that moment. Not after the day they'd had, or the shit that had gone down that night. He knew Jack was already stressing over everything, and despite the fact that he would know Bobby was only joking, he might not take it so well.

Hell, he didn't know what was wrong with him. Somehow being responsible for Craig seemed to have taken some of the spite out of him and he didn't like it one bit. He missed his old sense of humor. He missed being able to make his brothers feel like shit without it stirring up guilt inside of him. "Fine, I get it." He nodded his head and looked at Jerry. "So, you gonna fess up man? You gonna admit to these sick fantasies of yours with white bunnies and puff clouds? Because we need to prepare Camille for this," He found his self feeling less guilt with his focus on Jerry. He knew Jeremiah could deal with it, and he needed to release the pent up frustration.

"Don't start with him either Bobby." Camille spoke up while Jerry stuffed a bite of a sandwich into his mouth. "He's had a long day. He was almost blown to pieces." She reminded him.

"Shit, I know that. I'm the big fucking hero who busted the car through the burning wall to save his ass, remember?" Bobby took in the sight of Camille hanging on Jerry's arm while he ate. He shifted his gaze over to Sofi who was pouring some juice out of the jug into a glass for Angel. "Damn, I don't see anyone making such a fuss over me and I'm the one that saved both your asses." He shook his head.

Jack smiled wide. "Well, I could always give Sarah a call." He spoke quickly.

"Shut up Jack." Bobby sat back in his chair. "So, what the hell did Green have to say?" He asked.

Jerry and Angel took turns repeating Green's words, explaining how the man was sure he'd been set up. Hearing that Higgins had shown up too damn quick wasn't surprising, Bobby had figured on him being a dirty cop. He'd even half suspected he was working for Sweet, hell, he'd originally been certain he was working for Sweet, but a connection with Macks made much more sense to him. The son of a bitch would have been feeding Macks any information he could about the case. That was the only way Macks or Jordan would have known Craig was supposed to be talking to someone from the D.A.'s office, Higgins had told Macks everything he knew. He'd set up Green, and tried to kill him, and he'd set up the Mercer family. He listened to his brothers repeating Green's account of what had happened, what had been going on concerning the reporter he'd talked to, and the advice he'd passed along.

When it seemed Angel and Jerry were finished talking Bobby motioned for Jack to pick up the phone, which was still resting where they had left it on the table. "Play them the message." He urged.

The table fell quiet while Jordan's voice filled the space around them. Sofi seemed to shiver in her chair. "That fucker is so screwed." She spoke quietly. "You can play that for the cops." She looked at Angel.

"Screw the cops. We ain't leaving this to the cops, we're taking Macks and his buddies down, and we're doing it before the New Year." Bobby spoke quietly. "We got a few hours to get some rest, and then we make our move."

Faces turned in his direction. "You got a plan?" Jerry asked.

Bobby smiled at Jerry and nodded his head. "Yeah, it starts with killing the son of a bitch that's been leaking information to Macks. We go after Higgins first, and then we concentrate on Winston. We move onto Jordan last. We gotta do it all quick and leave nothing behind to let the cops know we're involved. We got guns in the closet, they came from the Stanley's apartment, we'll use those, they can't be traced back to us. Let's see just how fucking tough Macks is without someone around to do his dirty work for him." Yeah, Bobby had a plan, well mostly. He was planning on winging part of it, but he didn't really think Jerry would take too kindly to that particular idea right then.


	61. Chapter 61

Thanks to all for reading, and for the reviews! Let me know what you think about this one :)

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 61: Waking Up**

Craig was sure he could feel a presence next to him. He was lost in dreams of Evelyn Mercer, and her comfort and he didn't want to abandon them yet. He wanted to stay enveloped in them for as long as he could. He knew it wasn't real though. He knew it was all memories that his brain was working up. The feel of her holding him when he was small, and filling him with a sense of being safe and not so alone. Her words kept repeating over and over in his mind. "Craig, they're your brothers. You don't know them very well, but one day, you aren't going to be able to imagine what it was ever like without them." He could remember her saying those words to him not too long after he came home with her. He had been terrified of the four older Mercers, and he had told her so. She had let him feel afraid, but she'd promised him that it would change. She was right, it did change. He never completely lost the fear, it just morphed into a new fear. He'd started to fear them not liking him, or wanting him around.

The words repeated over and over in his mind as he soaked in the feel of her comfort. He still struggled with the words he'd heard drifting from Jack's room earlier, but her words seemed to drown them out. His mind shifted to words he'd heard from his brothers in the past month. They had taken care of him, and he'd gotten to know them a little better, though he still feared them turning their backs on him at some point. Her words kept filtering back to him. His mind would try to play the 'what if' game as he slept, but her words would come back and interrupt the game.

As his sleep deepened he could see his father's eyes glaring down at him, trying to penetrate the safety zone he'd built up around him with the toy soldiers and his mother's memory. He struggled to hold onto his mother and hide from the man. It did no good. His father moved in closer, that sick smile spread across his face. He knew the only way to escape the image was to open his eyes and let go of his mother.

The light was still on and he had to blink against it a few times. He noticed the door was standing open immediately. He wondered if Bobby was pissed at him. He sat up slowly, still holding onto the rabbit. He still felt tired, but he didn't want to sleep any more, at least not by himself. He was afraid his father would invade his mind and he'd have one of the bad nightmares. He was used to Bobby's voice penetrating his dreams when they were getting close to bad, and it had been reassuring, a way for him to trust that he could sleep.

Craig stood slowly and pulled the pillow up from the bed enough to tuck the rabbit in under it. He could hear quiet voices below him, and he was sure he heard Angel's voice. That meant that Angel and Jerry had gotten back from the hospital. He still felt irritated about being kept in the dark about what ever connection Jack had with his father, but another part of him wanted to be close to his brothers, close to the safety they offered. He knew that the comfort he'd allowed himself to feel from his mother was all in his mind and at that moment needed something real; something that he could touch and feel, and really hold onto.

He wasn't going to let himself fall into the trap of thinking Bobby was a father to him, not again. It hurt too bad to let himself have hope like that and then have it all crushed in around him. He didn't need a father. He just needed his brothers. Anything more got too hard; too confusing and too complicated to deal with. He was used to it being simple. His father had always kept everything simple. He said drop and you dropped, no questions asked. He said to keep quiet, and you kept quiet, or you got a bullet in the back, and your mother got her brains shot out of her head. He could handle simple. He could handle keeping some walls up. He had to. He had to shut it all out; all the hopes that he'd allowed his self to build up about how life with Bobby could be. It was never going to happen. He would never really fit in with any of them. He had to let himself accept that, and deal with it. He didn't need it though. As long as his brothers didn't reject him completely he'd be fine. That's what he was deciding, right then and there. He didn't need any more than that. If he didn't want it, then it wouldn't hurt so badly when it felt so close and was ripped away.

He reached up with his hands and rubbed at the sleep that still seemed to be scratching at his eyes. He was tired, and groggy, but he needed to go back downstairs and see if Bobby was pissed. He half hoped he was. If Bobby was pissed at him then he could strengthen his own defenses. If Bobby was nice, it would make it harder to hold his emotions at bay. He turned and slowly made his way to the stairs. He stopped at the top of the steps, hearing the voices below.

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Bobby should have known his brothers would screw up his plan to play most of his actions by ear. Angel was the first to speak up, pointing out flaws in how he was thinking. He listened, wishing to God he had thought it through a little more before he'd opened his mouth, because his brothers were making more sense than he expected them to.

"Look, man, we need to keep this as clean as we can." Angel spoke up once everyone had a chance to absorb Bobby's words. "One thing's for sure; we can't just go on a fucking killing spree." He looked at Bobby as if he were directing his words to him. "As much as we all want to take Higgins out, we need to let the law deal with him." He seemed to brace himself for Bobby's response.

Bobby stared at him for a long moment. His brothers were going to rework his plan of winging it; he could feel it in his bones. "You give me one good reason to believe the cops will deal with him." He managed to speak calmly, though he wanted very badly to argue this particular point quiet loudly. "The man tried to kill one of his own. He shot Green. He's been setting us up from the start, leaking all the information he could to Macks. There's money passing hands and it don't end with Higgins, it goes further up the chain, so you tell me why I should believe he will get what the hell is due him."

"We gotta pick and choose our battles right now. You don't think that leaving a chain of dead bodies, all associated with Macks would lead the cops right back to us? There is an open case right now involving Craig being kidnapped, and it's a federal case because the asshole dragged him across the state line. It's not just the local cops we're dealing with right now; we got the Fed's to think of." Angel tapped his finger on the table with each point he was making. "They would be knocking on our door in a day or two, and they would pin it all on us. We ain't got Green to help us out here, we're on our own."

Jerry sat back in his chair. "He's right Bobby." He nodded his head thoughtfully. "The cops will go after Higgins and they'll lead the FBI right to him if we play this right. Green seems to trust the guy who's taking over the case for him, and I have a feeling he'll go after Higgins big time if he has some evidence of him being involved, but they're gonna need some proof that he's the one that shot Green. There's ways to get that proof, maybe we can get that throw it out to the new guy on the case so he can make that connection with Higgins and Mack;, but we can't just kill him. Green will be able to work with his buddies on his end with the shit concerning Higgins, let's let him have that one, hell he deserves to have Higgins served up to him, he was the one that was shot."

Bobby gritted his teeth. He didn't want to leave Higgins to Green, or to the cops or the Feds. He didn't trust that it would work to their advantage. But Angel was right about one thing. If they killed all of the people who had been leading Macks to them all this time then it would bring the cops right to their doorstep. He might just have to let go of the idea of watching Higgins die and try to be happy with the man having to face his fellow officers and a judge with the truth about what he was. If the FBI took over the case there was less of a chance of Higgins getting off because of money passing hands. He drew in a deep breath. "Okay, how do we get proof of what he's been doing?"

"Well, I'd think a confession would probably be enough." Angel grinned. "We get a confession on tape and deliver it to the cop in charge of the case."

"And just how do you think you're gonna get him to confess to all the shit he's been doing?" Bobby asked.

"We only need him to confess to shooting Green. That'll be more than enough for the cops to investigate his dealings with Macks. It would bring it all out into the open." Angel looked at Sofi. "You still got that little box that records shit?" He asked her.

"It's called a digital recorder." Sofi scowled at him, "And yes, I still have it."

"I think it'll come in handy. I'll need you and your acting skills too. This is gonna be pretty simple." Angel nodded his head and looked at Jerry. "We'll take care of Higgins. You concentrate on Winston. Green don't seem to think he'd do shit for Macks right now, says he can't stand the man. Maybe he'll have some information, or maybe he can help us set Macks up."

Jerry nodded his head. "Yeah, I can talk to him, and maybe I can get some information."

"I don't like this." Camille shook her head. "I don't want Jeremiah in the middle of all of this." She looked at Bobby and then back to Jeremiah.

"He's just gonna talk to the man Camille. Don't worry; I ain't gonna let Jeremiah, Jack or Angel take any heat for anything. Even if the cops come looking for us, they ain't gonna go after any of my brothers." He spoke the words quietly. He wasn't laying out shit for the woman either. If the cops did come after them he would confess to everything and leave his brothers out of it. They had futures to build and he'd make damn sure they built them, one way or another. He looked at Jack. "If we can find out what kind of bullet was used to shoot Green we can look for the gun that did it. We need an address for Higgins." He nodded to his little brother. "You can find his address with the computer, right? You're good with the computer shit."

Jack nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm sure I could find his address that way. Of course I could try Craig's method first and look in the phone book." He flashed a small smile at Bobby.

Bobby scowled at Jack's comment. "I don't care how the fuck you get the address, just get it."

Jeremiah looked at Bobby. "That leaves you with Jordan then." He drew in a deep breath. "What do you plan on doing with him?"

"You heard his message Jerr'." Bobby muttered.

"And you don't know that he made that call on his own." Angel pointed out. "I don't like the fucker, but he's already got a trial date hanging over his head. You kill him now and we put the kid through hell this morning for no reason."

Bobby looked at Angel. "He's hiding Macks." He was sure of that fact and he figured Jordan needed to pay for that. He didn't really think jail was payment enough for all the shit the man had helped Macks put his family through. He wanted a chance at the man.

"Bobby, you know, it's possible Macks ain't giving him any kind of choice right now. The man had a grip on Jordan before; he's got control over him now. I'd bet Jordan ain't doing all this shit because he wants to. He thought Macks was dead, I mean he talked to the cops, confessed to just about everything, and I'd say Macks ain't gonna let him get away with that. He's already a dead man. Macks will use him up and spit him out. He's a coward, that's already been proven, right?" Jack was the one speaking out now. "I say we use that to our advantage." He seemed to be working something out in his head.

"Jordan is trapped in his own home right now. He's got a tracking device strapped to his ankle. If he leaves his home it sends a signal to the cops." Jerry commented.

"Yeah, and if he dies it alerts the cops too, I knew a guy in New York who had to do six weeks with one of those things." Jack nodded his head, almost sounding excited by his own words. "That's the only thing keeping Jordan alive probably. Macks can't kill him; the only place for him to hide out would be filled with cops. He'd have to find another place to stay." He looked at Bobby.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair, looking at Jack. "We're a bad influence on you, ain't we?" He spoke quietly. "You're getting better and better at coming up with this shit."

"Maybe I wasn't so bad at coming up with it before, you just never paid that much attention to what I had to say." Jack pointed out.

"You were a fucking kid." Bobby shook his head. "You've grown up." He knew Jack would understand he was telling him he was proud of him, but he wasn't about to come out and say it, not in front of the audience sitting there.

"I'll take that." Jack didn't smile, but his eyes held a glint to them.

"Good cause you ain't getting more, at least not for a while." Bobby sat back and looked at Angel. "So you are going for the confession from Higgins." He looked at Jeremiah. "You are going for Winston, to find out what you can from him. He's had to have heard from Macks, the man wouldn't leave him be, not after he spilled his guts to the cops, and us." He looked at Jack. "You and me go after Jordan to draw Macks out of the fucking woodwork."

"How do we know Macks won't be there when you show up at Jordan's place?" Jeremiah asked quickly.

"If he is then it just makes everything a hell of a lot easier. I don't think he'll hang around there during daylight hours. He'll be working up some other plan to come after us." Bobby thought about Jeremiah's question. "We need to get rid of his support system."

"Just one question though. What the hell you gonna do with the kid?" Angel asked. "He can't come with us on this one Bobby. It's too fucking close to him, and he can't handle much more, you know that."

Bobby drew in a deep breath and looked at Camille, "Are you up to some babysitting?" He asked her quietly.

Camille nodded her head. "I can stay with him. The girls are safe and sound with my parents, so I can stay here with him."

"No. Not here." Jeremiah spoke up. "A hotel would be better." He looked at Bobby. "You can give her a gun too. She's a good shot."

Bobby started to speak, but his voice caught in his throat at the what he thought he heard Jerry say. "What?" He wasn't sure he heard Jerry right. He wanted Camille to have a fucking gun?

"I said give her a gun. We ain't leaving her with no way of defending herself and Craig, man, she knows how to handle a gun, her Daddy likes to hunt." Jerry spoke quickly. "Macks is gonna go after him, you know that. If we don't get to him first she's gonna have to have some way to keep him away."

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "Okay. You get a gun." He looked at Camille.

"I want a gun too." Sofi spoke up. "I might need it if I'm going to be close to Higgins."

"Can you shoot?" Bobby looked at Sofi.

"Can you fuck off?" Sofi snapped at him.

"She can." Angel put a hand on Sofi's shoulder. "Calm down baby, it was a fair question."

"I'm a part of this too; I need to be treated just the same as anyone else here." Sofi looked at Bobby. "I know you don't think too much of me Bobby, but if I'm going to be a part of this family you have to start treating me like a real person and not some crazy bitch out to fuck you over."

"I never said I didn't think you was a part of this family." Bobby winced at his own words. "I only asked if you could fucking shoot. You want to be treated like a real person and not some crazy bitch then stop popping off at the mouth with loco shit." He spoke hard, not willing to come right out and admit that he did admire Sofi's spunk or her willingness to do what Angel asked of her. "I ain't giving anyone a gun if they don't know how to use it." He added quickly. "That ain't got nothing to do with whether or not I think you're fucking nuts."

Sofi looked at Bobby smugly. "I grew up with three loco brothers, you don't think I learned a few things from them Bobby?" Her voice was quiet.

Bobby nodded his head. "Okay, before the ladies get a gun I need to see them handle a weapon right. I want to see them clean and load their own piece and prove they know what the hell to do with it." He stared hard at Sofi and then shifted his gaze to Camille. "No offense to either of you, but I don't give a gun to no one I ain't sure can handle it. Not even my own brothers got shit from me without proving they knew what the hell it was and how it worked."

Sofi looked as if she was about to argue, but she drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. "Fine, that is fair." She looked down at Angel's hand on her shoulder. "Okay, you can stop squeezing the shit out of me now."

"I don't want to stay with Camille." A voice behind Bobby seemed to wrap around every muscle in Bobby's body, paralyzing him for a moment. He watched as everyone's attention shifted behind him. He finally managed to turn and look at Craig, who was standing in the living room, apparently having heard their discussion.

Bobby stared at him. "You'll stay with Camille, at a safe place." He reached his hand out and waved the boy to come over to him.

"I want to go with you." Craig didn't move from his spot, looking directly at Bobby.

"You ain't goin' with anyone on any of this Craig. You are gonna stay someplace safe and you're gonna listen to everything Camille tells you." Bobby looked at the dark circles under the boy's eyes. "You're gonna have to get some rest, and then we'll talk about it. Get your ass over here." He kept his voice calm.

Craig stared at Bobby for a long moment before walking across the floor to stand next to the man. Bobby shifted his chair and reached out to the boy, easing him down onto his lap. "You doin' okay?" He asked quietly.

Craig didn't answer, but Bobby could feel him trembling. "You were sleeping pretty damn good, what happened?"

Craig seemed to stiffen. He shrugged his shoulders, and stared at the table in front of them. "I woke up." He muttered, and Bobby could have sworn by the look on his face that they were talking about two different things.


	62. Chapter 62

These guys just wont let me get on with it! They had a few more things to say before they're gonna let me finish this one, so I hope you all don't mind...

Let me know what you think, and thanks to all for reading! :) Special thanks to those who review!

Still don't own, still make no money.

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**Chapter 62: New Beginnings?**

Craig could feel the eyes of his brothers as well as Camille and Sofi all fixed on him and he hated it. He didn't want them to look at him as if there was something wrong with him. There was nothing wrong with him, he wasn't a freak to be stared down, and he didn't need or want their pity. He was beginning to think he'd been better off just to stay upstairs. He felt tense and out of place sitting on Bobby's lap like a small child. He had hoped Bobby would be pissed at him. At least that way he wouldn't feel that tugging at his chest, the need to cling to his brother that was quickly trying to build up inside of him.

He heard Bobby telling him that he could take his pills and lay down on the couch while they finished their talk. He could almost feel the words vibrating through his nerves and his body tightened up with each syllable, but he did his best to hide it and he purposely avoided looking at anyone. He didn't want to be drugged and pushed out of the way in a doped up sleep. He wanted to know what they were planning. He had a right to know. He had more of a right to know what was going on than Sofi or Camille, it was his father they were talking about and making these plans for.

"Jack, can you get a glass of milk?" Bobby held him close with one arm around his shoulders, and he gave him a slight squeeze, as if he thought it would help the boy relax, but all it did was increase the tension he felt inside as Jack got up from the table.

"I don't want the pills." Craig muttered, though he knew his words would be unheard. He wasn't going to take the pills. He wasn't going to let Bobby push him out of the way and keep him in the dark. He wasn't going to let his brother drug him in order to keep him out of the way.

"You need the medication Craig. The doctor prescribed each one for a reason." Bobby reached out to the line of pills that still lay on the table where they'd been left before Jordan's message had been played. "You're already off your schedule." He commented. "And you didn't really eat much but I think it was enough." He started picking up the pills one at a time. "You want to take Jack up on his offer to sack out on the floor?" He asked, though earlier he had vetoed the idea, to Craig's relief. The boy didn't understand why Bobby would change his mind now.

"No." Craig answered quickly, almost before Bobby had finished asking the question. No he didn't want to sleep on the living room floor with Jack. No, he didn't want to be near Jack right then, he didn't even want to be near Bobby, let alone sitting on his lap. He would have stood if he thought Bobby would let him. He wanted to be let in on what was going on, and his brothers had stopped talking as soon as he'd made his presence known. It was irritating. "I don't want the damn pills." He muttered as Bobby studied the variety of shapes and colors in the palm of his hand.

Bobby went quiet, except for the sigh that escaped him; he didn't try to reason with him, or jump his shit for his tone of voice, or his choice of words. The man's arm tightened around his shoulders. "I think you should take Jackie up on his offer. He wants to talk to you." He finally spoke. His voice felt tight in the air.

Craig bit back on the words that wanted to spill out. He didn't want the pills and he didn't want to sleep on the floor anywhere near Jack. He wanted to know what his brothers were planning. He'd only heard part of what they'd been talking about. If he'd been smart he wouldn't have spoken up when he did, but he didn't want to stay at any hotel room with Camille to be left behind, again. He didn't want to be kept in the dark about what was going on. He knew there was nothing he could say to make anyone listen to him and include him. He would have to figure it out on his own, just as he'd had to figure most things out on his own his whole life. He couldn't let himself expect more from his brothers. If he expected more he would be disappointed and then he'd have to deal with that emotion. He had enough to hold in as it was.

Jack returned with the glass of milk as Bobby talked about the idea of sleeping on the floor. Craig barely glanced up at the younger man, and he could see a look on his face that reminded him of a frightened animal. Jack was nervous and worried, and it tugged at him for a short second; it almost made him give in and agree to the campout on the floor.

He had to remind himself he couldn't care about how any of his brothers were feeling. He had to detach from that closeness he'd allowed himself to feel with them. It wasn't real; they didn't really want him that close. It had been a game and nothing more. A fantasy of how he'd wished things could be with all of them. He couldn't live his life clinging to nonexistent family.

Jack set the glass on the table and returned to his chair without saying anything; though it was obvious he wanted to voice some kind of objection about the sleeping on the floor idea that he had proposed earlier. It had been his idea and now he looked uncomfortable with it. Just more proof to the teen that no matter what his brothers said they didn't really want him close to them.

Craig watched as Bobby held the pills out to him. "Come on, start taking them." The man kept his voice steady, but Craig was sure he could hear a threat behind the words. He knew he shouldn't push, though an argument was itching at the back of his throat. He was going to piss Bobby off if he let it out and then all sorts of shit would start.

He didn't want to fight with his brother. If Bobby started pushing hard he would break wide open, and he couldn't let that happen. He needed to be in control of what he was doing. He needed to keep his distance from his brothers. He needed to shut off the feelings that could hurt so badly.

He obediently reached out and took the first pill from Bobby. He picked up the milk and put the pill in his mouth, lodging it under his tongue before taking a small drink. He repeated the action for the next five pills and was surprised at how easily all of them fit under his tongue. He still avoided looking at anyone. He kept his eyes focused on the edge of the table and concentrated hard on the straight edge, trying desperately to find something interesting about it while he drained the rest of the milk from the glass. He could feel one of the pills trying to dissolve under his tongue almost immediately and it took all his control not to start spitting out the bitter tasting substance.

"You can go get Angel's sleeping bag and some pillows and get the floor ready. Jack can put the movie in for you, just like he talked about." Bobby took the glass from him as soon as it was empty. "The two of you can watch the movie and talk a little bit before…"

Craig stood before Bobby could finish voicing his thoughts. His muscles were moving with stiff motions, but he didn't want to hear Bobby telling he had to lay on the floor with Jack, he wanted nothing to do with Jack, and he needed to empty the pills out of his mouth before he gave himself away and started spitting out the nasty taste filling his mouth.

He went to the living room, his instincts aiming for the couch, ignoring his brother's words as he moved quickly. He had wanted to be near his brothers before, he'd wanted to feel safe, and he'd been sure knowing they were close would accomplish that. Instead he was feeling irritated, and pushed aside. Bobby was going to make him stay with Camille while they all went about their business. He was going to be left behind, again, just like before, and it wouldn't matter what he tried to say to them, no one would listen. It was just as it had always been, even when he was little. They didn't really want him around; they wanted him to stay out of the way and be unseen and unheard. He could do that, he was good at playing invisible; it was a talent he'd developed when he much younger. His father had taught him well.

He didn't think he could stand being around any of his brothers at that moment, it twisted at his heart and he couldn't deal with hurting any more. He wasn't going to let himself hurt. He was quickly realizing that he should have stayed upstairs. He should have closed his door back and just hid away in the safety of his room. He had been fine, letting his mind fall back into the memories of his mother and the security she had offered him. It may not have been real, but it had been enough.

No matter how much he'd craved and wanted his brother's attention when he was growing up, Evelyn had always been enough, and he hadn't really needed more. He didn't need more now; he just had to take care of himself. He was fourteen years old, not seven, and he needed to stop clinging to a fantasy. His brothers would take care of the business at hand, and then go about their own lives, just as he'd always known they would, and he'd be left to himself to take care of his own life, and he needed to face those facts now.

He took up a fetal position on the couch, putting his back to the room. He could hear his brothers' quiet voices behind him. He carefully spit the pills out of his mouth and into his hand. He shoved his hand down the crack where the back of the couch met the cushion and managed to deposit the pills there.

He let his eyes close, but he strained to hear what was being said in the next room. He wanted to know what they were planning; he had a right to know. As much as he strained to hear the words they were very quiet now. His brothers knew he was close by and they weren't going to let him hear anything they had planned. They did speak in normal tones as plans were made for all of them to get some sleep.

It was decided that Jerry and Camille would stay at the house and sleep in Evelyn's bed that night. Craig felt his heart squeeze in hard on him. He didn't want them in his mother's bed. That was supposed to be his safe place. Jack was going to sleep in his own bed, and Bobby would stay downstairs with Craig, his plans were to sleep in the hospital bed Jack was giving up.

The dining room emptied quickly, and Craig kept his body still and his eyes closed as bodies filed past him towards the stairs. He could feel the crowd that had gathered in the dining room dissipate into creaks and groans on the floorboard above him. He heard lights being turned out, and he could hear footsteps walking back and forth in the dining room and kitchen. He tried not to let his body stiffen up on him when the one person left downstairs stepped around the coffee table and hovered over him. He felt the afghan being pulled off the back of the couch and dropped over him. He felt a hand rest on his forehead for a long moment, and then the presence moved around the coffee table again, to the Christmas tree. He heard a soft 'click' and guessed that the tree lights had been turned on. He was thankful that there was going to be some light in the room, though until that moment he hadn't thought about being alone in the dark.

He knew it was Bobby, he had become familiar with the energy Bobby emitted when he was close, and he wanted to roll over and look at him, beg him not to leave him alone on the couch. He didn't want to be alone, away from his oldest brother, but he held it back. His brain was struggling with the conflict inside of him; the need to be Bobby's little brother in the same way he had been the past few weeks, battled against the conclusions he'd come up just a short time before when he had come out of a his self imposed sleep in his own room. He mentally screamed at himself that he couldn't let himself fall into that old trap of pretending Bobby could be his father. He would end up hurt, and he knew he couldn't handle that again. The best way to get past it was to detach himself from the yearnings he felt and force himself to rely only on himself. He didn't need to depend on Bobby or any of his brothers. He needed to depend only on his self, and not let anyone else get close enough with words or promises. It hurt too bad to have them crash on him, and he wasn't going to open himself up to it again; never again. He had to let himself get used to a different life, and he had to learn to take better care of himself. He tried to tell his self it wouldn't be so bad. It would be the beginning of something different, but that didn't mean it had to be bad.

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Bobby made certain the table was cleared off. He was exhausted, but he felt worked up and wasn't sure he was going to be able to sleep. It was more than what he knew was coming first thing in the morning, it was not being sure that Macks wouldn't try to invade the safety of their home that night, what little bit was left of it. He also felt the walls Craig had put up with almost no warning. Well, there had been some signs, and given his history it wasn't surprising, but damn it, he didn't know what he could do to prove to the kid that everything was going to be okay.

Macks was going to have to be dead and buried before the kid could make real progress. Jack was going to have to talk to him too, hell, maybe all of them needed to sit down and talk. Not just Jack and Craig, but all of his brothers, sitting down and talking the whole thing out. Craig had trust issues, and that was normal. He knew what it was like not to trust anyone. It had taken a lot for him to put any trust in Evelyn Mercer, and each of his brothers. Hell, they all knew what it was like, that's what had made them so fucking close as brothers. The circumstances that had gotten them into the system and into each others' lives had varied considerably, but in the end the same feelings of anger, and mistrust had brought their paths to collide in Evelyn Mercer's home. She had given them all a chance that no one else was willing to give them; a chance that they had not been willing to give themselves actually.

The man opened the refrigerator and found a beer hidden in the back, behind some leftovers that needed to be thrown out. He grabbed it anxiously and twisted the cap off the bottle. He took a long drink before turning and heading back to the dining room. He flipped the light switch for the kitchen off as he passed it, and he turned towards the living room. The kid was curled up on the couch like he was cold, or scared, or maybe just trying to block out his brothers. He wasn't sure which it was. He walked over to the light switch and flipped off the light for the living room. He made his way to the couch quietly and set his beer down on the coffee table so he could cover Craig. He wanted to sit down next to him and stay there the rest of the night, but he had a feeling Craig didn't want him that close right then.

Just a few short weeks ago if he'd thought the kid didn't want him close he would have pushed it with him. He would have forced him to drop the walls and let him in, even if it meant beating his ass to make him break and give in to it. It was different now. He knew the reason the kid got like this, and he wondered if maybe he made it worse when he pushed so fucking hard. He didn't want to make it worse, he wanted to make it better, he wanted the kid to know he would take care of him and make sure he was safe. At the same time his instincts told him to sit down right then and there and make the kid look at him and talk to him and tell him what the hell he was thinking.

In the shadows cast by the dining room light he could see that Craig looked flushed, and it worried him. He reached down and felt his forehead. For a split second it seemed Craig's features tightened. He was sure he was awake, and he hoped he'd open his eyes and look at him. He wanted some kind of sign from him that the bond they had formed over the past few weeks was still there, that it hadn't been completely severed by the conversation overheard in Jack's room. He gave Craig a few seconds to react and reach out for him, but there was no movement, no eyes looking up with that silent message that he wanted a father to watch out for him. He let out a small sigh and moved to turn on the tree lights.

The tree would be coming down after that weekend, and it would mark the end of the holidays. Bobby couldn't help but feel it would also mark the end of one life and the beginning of a new one, for all of them. Their plans for Macks will have come full circle by then, and the man would no longer be a threat to his family. The nightmare with Sweet had marked the beginning of the holidays with the death of their mother at Thanksgiving. Macks had managed to mar their Christmas, and now the New Year. When the tree came down it was all going to be over and they would have to learn to live normal lives again. It wasn't going to be the same life as before; it would seem foreign and strange, at first, but they would all adjust, and they would move on and everything would okay. He was sure of it. He had to be sure of it. The alternative was not pleasant.

Bobby picked up his beer and walked as quietly as a man full of anger and frustration could manage at that moment. He moved back to the dining room, turned out the light and slowly stripped himself of his boots. He drained the beer before on the bed, leaving the empty bottle on the table. He stretched his aching arms out to his side and raised them over his head before giving his neck a slight twist to loosen the tension that had settled there. His ribs throbbed slightly, a sure sign he'd pushed his body a little too hard, maybe. It felt good to have a few sore muscles. He needed to get his shit together and start working out again. He had slacked off lately. Hell, he'd slacked off before he ever came home, but since he'd been home he'd been too fucking lazy. He needed to get back into a gym.

He sat on the bed and looked at the lump on the couch. He wondered if Craig would be up for some time in the gym with him. It would give them a chance to do some shit together, and it would give the boy a way of learning how to defend his self better. The one lesson on the ice was just a way of letting him know it could be done. Whether he took it further was a choice Craig would have to make for himself.

Bobby let his body fall back on the bed on top of the blankets. He wasn't going to undress all the way. He wanted to be ready, just in case. His eyes slipped closed on him, but his ears stayed sharp. His mind ran through pictures of his day, snapshots of moments that he was sure would stay with him forever. He wanted to blank it all out but none of it would go away. As he lay there in the quiet dark he thought he finally had some kind of an understanding as to what Craig seen in his own mind. The pictures that he felt compelled to release onto paper. If he had a way of getting the images out of his own head at that moment he would do it. Craig was able to get them out, but still have them there to examine and ponder over when a time came that he was ready to. Damn, what Bobby Mercer wouldn't give for that ability right then, the chance to get the pictures out of his head so he could sleep, but still have them around for when he needed to remember details that were important would be a blessing right then.

He could hear the clock ticking away the seconds as his mind wondered into the images from that day, the past week, even that month. He still strained to hear any out of the way sound, but aside from the clock, and the occasional 'humph' of the furnace kicking on there was nothing. God, he hoped he managed to get some sleep before morning….


	63. Chapter 63

Thanks to all for reading, and the reviews! Let me know what you think :)

Still don't own, still make no money.

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Chapter 63: Making Choices

Adam Macks woke early the next morning, an anxious feeling swelling in his gut. It wasn't the effects of too much whiskey the night before; hell, Jones didn't let him drink the way he wanted to drink. Since the Donna incident Jones seemed to have a problem with the alcohol, but Macks still managed to get a good buzz on the night before. Despite the booze, this feeling had nothing to do with the good drunk he'd managed to fall into just before he passed out in the bed; it was the anticipation of what he was going to get that day.

He was finally going to have his little bitch back in his hands. He was going to have him back and he wasn't going to let him out of his grips again. The kid was his, he'd sacrificed a life, his wife, and his soul for that boy, and he was going to have him back one way or another. He would take out the Mercers, and he'd make sure that no one ever took that kid away from him again.

He could remember introducing Jordan to the new sleeping arrangements, and a smile crept across his face. The closet in the guest room was a good size, and it afforded a way to keep Jordan from doing any harm to his self. He'd emptied out that closet and made Jordan strip before tying his hands behind his back and locking him inside. He wasn't about to take a chance on the man offing himself in the middle of the night while he slept. The last thing he needed was the cops barging into the house and finding him there with Jordan's dead body. No matter how badly the man might want to die right now, it was going to have to wait. He still needed him alive. Jordan had been given a choice the night before, but Macks was sure the man knew it didn't matter what he chose, he was going to end up dead.

Macks stumbled to the restroom and set about what had become his normal morning routine; shower, a shave, and then transforming himself into Jones on the outside. He couldn't help but think that at some point he would be able to stop hiding himself under another face. Jones seemed happy with always being on the surface, but Macks was starting to grow tired of it.

He'd liked the new face, at first. He'd liked starting over, with no past, and no history. The problem was Jones had turned out to be the kind of person he loathed. He argued too fucking much. He wanted to have control too much and he thought he knew more than Macks did. Adam was quickly growing to dislike the son of a bitch. He didn't like to be questioned, and he didn't like to be disobeyed. Jones didn't like to follow orders. He wanted to do shit his own way, and it was going to cost them both if he didn't start listening.

Jordan was awake when he opened the closet door forty minutes later. He stared down at the whimpering shit for a long moment before stepping back and letting him shuffle across the carpet on his knees. He could feel the urges inside of him exploding as he watched Jordan's form trembling there on the floor, unsure of what was going to be done to him next. He wanted to wait, and store up his energy for his real desire, but he couldn't stop himself from sliding down to his own knees behind Jordan and grabbing hold of the back of his hair. "You want something bitch?" He asked the man in as rough a voice as he could rasp out.

Jones screamed out from inside his brain that now wasn't the time for a fucking game with the gutless shit in front of him. "You need to be reminded who the boss is, don't you?" He was talking more to Jones, than to Jordan that time, but it seemed to affect the trembling man who obviously felt vulnerable with no clothing to cover him, and his hands bound securely. He felt Jordan trying to pull away from him, and that was all it took for his instincts to kick in.

Jones argued with him and tried to reason with him about his choices and how they weren't going to help either of them. Hell, they were his choices, and Jones needed to shut the hell up. He allowed himself enough time with Jordan to quench the thirst that taunted him. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take over, turning his little roust with Jordan into an encounter with the one person he was struggling to regain control of. He belonged to him and he would remind him of that when he got his hands on him.

He didn't hold back, and by the time he was finished and able to drag his mind back to reality Jordan was laying on the floor under him, his lip split and bleeding. Fresh bruises forming around his jaw and left eye. He got up off the man and turned him onto his side to untie his hands. "Go get breakfast on the table, bitch. I want bacon and eggs. If it's not ready by the time I get there I'll make sure you understand pain." He stepped back, the bindings swinging in his grip.

Jordan sobbed as he moved to grab his clothes off the spare bed in the room.

Macks reacted quickly, his foot kicking out and landing square in the man's chest. "I didn't tell you to put any clothes on. You don't need clothes. I'm not done with you yet. When I'm done you'll know it. Now move it." He yelled the words, pissed that the fuck in front of him would try to dress without permission. He realized just how well he'd had his boy trained all those years before. Even the kid wouldn't have tried to dress unless he'd been told he could.

Jordan's entire body seemed unsteady, but he stood and stumbled out of the room, almost in a rush. Macks laughed quietly to himself. Now he needed to wash up and make sure he looked decent. He had to get a hold of that reporter, and Higgins. He needed to find out what the cops knew about Green's shooting, and if the Mercers had shared with the cops that he was still alive and well. He was almost certain the Mercers wouldn't tell the cops shit, but then if Green was alive there was no telling what they would tell him, and he would share the news with the Feds, and his fellow cops.

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Craig lay awake on the couch most of the night, with his mind trapped in an endless cycle of thoughts about his father, his mother and his brothers. One thought seemed to lead to another, and they seemed to be going round and round in his head. He was tired, but sleep wouldn't come. He almost moved from the couch to his bedroom upstairs, but he heard Bobby getting up once and checking the windows and doors before returning to the bed in the dining room. His brother wasn't sleeping either, and that meant if he moved from the couch Bobby would know he was awake and he was sure the man would be curious as to why the pills he'd forced him to take hadn't knocked him cold.

He finally drifted into an uneasy, half sleep, but his mind would fill with images that he wanted to forget, and the colors that had invaded his head before, when his father had shot him up, seemed to come back, dancing around the pictures his brain was bringing up for him to look at. When he opened his eyes he was sure he could still see the colors. He remembered how he'd used the colors before, when he was trapped in the back of that car, or van, or whatever the hell he'd been stuffed into. He had hidden in the colors then, and let them float him away into another world. Now they scared him. He found himself dozing in short spurts, waking up to push the colors away and clear his head before drifting off again.

He was thankful when the morning light started to brighten the room. He sat up on the couch and looked into the dining room. Bobby was sitting on the bed, drinking what looked like a mug of coffee. He was surprised that Bobby was looking right at him, as if he'd been watching him for a while. He pushed the afghan away and started to get up. "I have to go to the restroom." He spoke just loud enough for Bobby to hear him and started to move towards the stairs.

"Since when do you go wondering around by yourself? I let last night slide, that don't mean you just up and leave a fucking room when you damn well feel like it." Bobby got up from the bed and set his cup down on the table.

Craig wasn't sure what to expect from his brother right then. He'd figured Bobby would jump his shit about running up to his room and locking the door the night before, but he hadn't. Maybe he'd been waiting to do it when no one else was around. Maybe he'd held it in and now he was going to blow up and yell and beat his ass. He wasn't sure.

Bobby turned on the living room light and headed for the stairs. "Come on." He waved the boy to follow him.

Craig was surprised, and yet he wasn't. He was more disappointed that Bobby hadn't given him a reason to be pissed at him, it would have helped him to pull back from the urge he had to grab hold of the man and not let go. He managed to fight off the urge, and moved up the stairs ahead of his brother. He peed and washed his hands and face under Bobby's watchful eye. He followed him back downstairs, and when Bobby motioned for him to join him in the dining room he followed, not wanting a bad confrontation, not yet.

"You ready to eat breakfast yet? You have to be hungry, you barely ate shit yesterday." Bobby returned to his coffee and took a long drink.

Craig sat down in the chair he'd gotten used to using recently. "No." He muttered.

"You ain't hungry?" Bobby didn't look at him; he seemed to be thinking far too hard about the whole food question and that made Craig feel a little nervous. He couldn't handle it if Bobby tried to make him eat just yet.

"You got a little time, and then I'm gonna make you sit there and work on a bowl of cereal." Bobby sighed and carried his coffee mug to the kitchen. He returned to the doorway after he'd had time to fill his cup, and leaned on the jam for support.

Craig avoided looking at his brother, letting his finger play with the wood grain of table. He was getting familiar with the feel of that table, though he would have rather been doing something else right then, nothing specific, just anything other than feeling like a specimen under a microscope. He could feel Bobby's eyes burning though him as if he were trying to see what was hiding under his quiet manner.

"You want to tell me what the hell is going on in that head of yours yet?" Bobby finally asked the question the boy had been dreading. He'd known deep down that Bobby would start the questions; he'd just hoped it wouldn't be right then. "What is going on with you, besides the bullshit from yesterday?"

He tore his own concentration away from the table and looked up to Bobby. He hadn't looked at his brother too closely since he'd gotten up from the couch, purposely avoiding eye contact. Now he could see the red eyes and pale, pasty features of his face. It didn't look as if Bobby had slept at all. "Nothing," Craig let his eyes fall back to the table. He swallowed at the tension building up inside of him. He hadn't had much sleep, but he'd managed to doze a little. His brother looked like walking death, standing there in front of him sipping on hot coffee.

Bobby sighed loudly and Craig could see enough of him on the edge of his vision to notice his body sagging slightly.

"Jack didn't know who he was, you know." Bobby spoke quietly. "He had a rough time back then, dealing with the shit that foster father of his had put him through. He never really got over it. He never had anyone around to show him how to put the shit behind him and get on with his life. He went for years, with those memories in his head. As far as I'm concerned the son of a bitch got what he deserved, it just never should have happened around a little kid. By the time Jack got here he was lost to it. He seemed to be doing okay after a while, but deep down he was wallowing in it and it nearly killed him." Bobby kept his voice quiet. "You tell him I said a fucking word to you and I'll never trust you again."

Craig's eyes shot up to meet Bobby's, his breath caught in his chest and he thought for a moment he was going to get sick as bile rose just to the back of his mouth.

Bobby walked over to sit down on the opposite side of the table. "He was a kid Craig. Just like you, and he hid a lot of shit pretty fucking good, just like you do. He was scared, and he had been scarred inside." He reached up and tapped the side of his head. "You can't hold that against him, it's not fair. It's not something he's proud of, but he got into some shit that he never should have, or never would have if we'd been paying enough attention to him. He's scared it's gonna happen with you, but it's ain't. I won't let it, he just don't realize that yet."

Craig was trying to process the words being dropped on him at that moment. He hadn't been ready for them; their meaning was so clear, but at the same time there seemed to be a hidden message in them.

"You of all people should be able to understand what he was going through. He was trying to run from it, and it didn't work. That's how we all can honestly say that it doesn't work and we don't want you to try some of the shit he tried. We watched how it played out for Jack, and it wasn't pretty. We don't want you to go through any of that. Jack, more than anyone else doesn't want to see you go through the shit he went through. You understand that?" Bobby's voice was steady and quiet. He sounded as wore down as he looked. "That's why he didn't want you to know. He didn't want you to be pissed at him, or think that because he went over the edge for a while that you could too."

All Craig could manage for the moment was a nod of his head. He wasn't sure why Bobby was telling him anything now. He hadn't told him before, and it was obvious none of his brothers had planned on saying anything to him. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter that Bobby was telling him anything. It didn't change the decision he'd made. He couldn't let himself go back to feeling attached to his brothers, or hope for Bobby to be a father to him. Bobby hadn't wanted him around before, though his words the night before had said differently Craig was sure it wasn't true. He hadn't wanted him around when he was younger, he couldn't expect him to want him now.

He couldn't open himself up for the pain, not again. He had lost his grip on his feelings and let his guard down too many times and it hurt too much to feel it ripped away from him. His father always managed to screw things up for him, one way or another, and this time he was going to be prepared. He wasn't going to expect things to be the way he wanted, that way he couldn't be disappointed when he came to the realization that he would never have a real family again. Evelyn had been his one chance and she was gone.

"You and Jack need to talk, but you understand what I'm telling you, don't you?" Bobby set his mug on the table in front of him and turned it in a slow circle.

Craig gave his shoulders a shrug. "He knew my father." He muttered and watched Bobby's cup turning slowly around.

"Yeah, he did. He had a bad experience with him. You want to try to guess what that experience was? Because I doubt I could actually say it out loud. It makes me sick to hear the words. Jack didn't know his name, hell, as fucking stupid as it sounds; it was probably the one thing that was bad enough to jerk him back to some sort of reality." Bobby's voices seemed to soften slightly. "He recognized him from one of the pictures you drew. He didn't know who he was until he seen him in your scratch book."

Craig felt his chest constrict, and he was sure he could have let tears fall at that moment as his mind tried to reason the words around. He wanted to ask Bobby some questions, to get a better understanding about Jack and what had happened that no one wanted to tell him about, but he held it in. He locked the questions away and told himself he didn't care. He didn't want to care. It wouldn't do any good, not now, not ever. He wasn't going to set himself up for another fall. He would go through the motions as much as he could manage, but he was shutting everything inside down. The caring, the wanting, the pain, it wasn't going to happen anymore.

"When you overheard us talking, why didn't you ask some questions then?" Bobby asked. He was going to keep pushing, and Craig felt irritated at him for it, despite the fact that he expected it.

Craig shook his head slowly. "It doesn't matter." He lied.

"It doesn't matter?" Bobby looked confused by the words. "It does matter. It matters a lot. I need to know what to do to help you deal with this shit Craig."

Craig felt the irritation growing "I don't need any help. I'm fine." He muttered, not looking up look into Bobby's face. He might lose his resolve if he looked up.

"Don't do this shit." Bobby's voice rose slightly and his hands moved from the coffee cup to slide across the table and grab hold of both of Craig's hands. "Don't start this again. I'm gonna take care of the bastard, and we are gonna work a lot of shit out. You're gonna be okay, but you gotta trust me and the rest of your brothers. You gotta know that we're gonna be here for you. You know that, right? You knew it before, didn't you? Nothing has changed."

Craig swallowed hard. "I know that." He lied again, and was surprised at how steady his voice sounded, but he still wasn't able to look at Bobby. He was sure if he looked at the man that the feelings inside would be visible to him somehow.

Bobby held onto his hands for a few more seconds. "I gotta go wake up the troops. You gonna be okay down here by yourself for a few minutes?" His voice was still quiet and his words were steady and slow.

"Sure." Craig muttered.

Bobby released his hands and stood. "I'll get your cereal and pills when I come back." He announced.

Craig didn't look up to watch Bobby walking away. He waited until he was alone in the room before letting out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure how he was going to handle being surrounded by all of his brothers at once if it was that difficult with only one of them. He let his head fall back and he stared at the ceiling. His gaze fell on the ugly water spot he'd seen before, when he was supposed to be standing in the corner. He studied it, and tried to find the image of Jesus again. Somehow he thought that if he could find that image, then he would feel better. He knew it had been a trick played on him with his brain, he knew that, but for some reason he couldn't pull it out of the varying shades of yellow and almost brown that almost swirled around in the spot.

It wasn't long before the downstairs started filling with people. He watched and listened to the talking and joking that seemed surround him. Somehow it felt wrong that his brothers could be in a good mood. After everything that had happened they were still picking on Jack at every opportunity, and they made jokes about rabbits and clouds that lost him completely but seemed to rouse some negative responses from Jerry.

Bobby brought him a bowl of cereal and set it in front of him. He managed to work on the cereal while Bobby sat Camille and Sofi at the other end of the table with two handguns and started drilling them on loading and unloading the weapons. He instructed them both, using more patience than Craig had expected.

"I don't plan on actually using this Bobby; it's a last resort, right?" Camille seemed to make a face as Bobby stood behind her and explained some of the finer uses for the gun she was holding.

"Jerry said you knew how to use one of these." Bobby commented.

"I do, my Dad always thought we should all be familiar with the guns he had in the house, it kept us from being curious about them and messing with them. But I still don't like guns, and even though I'm taking this, it's just to keep Jerry happy." Camille spoke quietly so that Jerry couldn't hear her from the kitchen.

Bobby leaned down close to his sister-in-law. "Sweetheart, you got respect for that gun, and I'm impressed with that, not many people are smart enough to respect a weapon like that. They treat it more like a fucking toy. But if you're afraid of it, I don't want you handling it either. Fear and guns don't mix well. So you tell me now, are you afraid of it?"

Camille shook her head. "No, I'm not afraid of it. I just don't plan on pulling it out of my purse unless I absolutely have to." She looked Bobby square in the eye. "If I don't have any other choice, I'll shoot it."

Bobby smiled. "That's my girl." He could see no fear in the woman's eyes. He turned his attention to Sofi. "What about you, you scared of that thing in front of you Loco Ono?"

Sofi scowled at the man before looking back down to the gun. "I'm not afraid of a little thing like this. I'm only carrying this so that Angel has me to back him up if Higgins tries anything stupid, right?" She looked back up at Bobby. "I'm not so loco Bobby. I have some common sense. I don't pull this one out unless Angel says he needs me to."

"Well you remember that. You ain't a fucking gang banger; you're a lady, well, sort of." Bobby cracked a smile and gave Sofi a wink. "You're a tough bitch when you want to be Sofi, just don't go all fucking hot head on us and pull it out and start shooting up the city."

Sofi's eyes narrowed and she started to ramble something in Spanish, with Bobby's name popping up every so often in between foreign words.

"You see, now that's what I'm talking about, you can't lose control like that with a fucking gun in your hands. That's why I got some issues with you carrying a loaded gun around. You got that?" Bobby's voice rose.

Sofi silenced almost immediately, her icy look still focused on Bobby. "I'll be fine, Bobby. You are the only person in this universe that pisses me off like this."

"So, I guess you won't be naming your first born after me then? Damn, my heart his crushed," Bobby grinned mockingly and held his hands over his heart for a long moment.

Sofi was about to start in on another long string of Spanish curses when Bobby went serious. "Keep it up and I'll take the gun." He warned. "You can't be a hot head with one of those Sofi, it's just a fact. I ain't saying that being a hot head ain't a good trait, it comes in handy at times, but this ain't one of them, so settle the fuck down and listen to what I'm telling you!"

Sofi's mouth hung open for a moment, but then she closed it and nodded her head. "Okay." Her voice was quiet.

Angel peeked around the corner of the doorway and looked at Bobby, then to Sofi. "What the fuck just happened?" He asked, looking concerned by the loud voices.

"Nothing, everything is fine." Sofi didn't turn to look at Angel, she kept her eyes forward; but it was easy to see that she was biting down on the inside of her mouth.

Bobby looked at Angel with an innocent expression and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Everything is just fine. We're just going over the finer points of avoiding a premature discharge, that's all."

Jack was making trips upstairs and then to the kitchen. He went to the living room once and got on the computer. He hadn't stopped in the dining room to say good morning, and Craig was sure he was avoiding him. The boy wasn't sure why he cared. He didn't want to deal with Jack and his story right then anyway. Part of him was curious, but another part of him was holding onto the anger he'd felt at being left out. It seemed he was invisible at the end of the table, slowly scooping tiny pieces of cereal into his mouth.

Jack wasn't the only one that seemed to have forgotten him. He knew his brothers were busy, he knew they had come up with a specific strategy, and they had to be very careful that it was carried out perfectly, but he still couldn't feel as if he were being pushed further out of everything. He had wanted to put distance between him and his brothers but he wanted to know what was going on.

Craig managed to get most of the cereal down. He stood, hoping he'd be able to sneak upstairs or to the living room at least. Bobby's attention was suddenly snapping in his direction. "Where do you think you're going?" He asked.

Craig looked at Bobby. "The restroom," He muttered.

"Didn't we cover this once already? You need the restroom, someone will walk you up. You just sit your ass back down. I'll get your pills." Bobby walked to the kitchen.

Craig dropped back into the chair and watched as Camille and Sofi loaded their guns carefully.

Bobby returned with a glass of water and a handful of pills. Craig didn't argue; he took the pills one at a time, just as he had the night before, and maneuvered them into a tight position under his tongue.

"Jack, can you take Craig up and let him piss? He can get dressed while he's at it." Bobby called out, turning away from Craig and moving back to the kitchen.

Craig felt his stomach twist on him when Jack walked through the dining room, waving for him to follow him. He stood and followed Jack a little slower than he normally would have. "You hit the toilet; I'll get you some clothes. Meet me in your room." He told the boy as he headed up the stairs in front of him.

Craig went to the restroom and closed the door after him, pulling the pills out of his mouth quickly and tossing them in the toilet. He stood there, looking at them dropping down to the bottom of the commode, wondering why he supposedly needed them. He hadn't taken his pills the night before and he was fine. He was going to avoid the pills for as long as he could.

He flushed the toilet and walked to the sink to wash his hands. He wondered if Jack would try to talk to him now, since there was no one else around. Would he try to explain anything to him or would he hold back and not mention the fact that he'd been lying to him all this time. He hoped he didn't say a word. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear any of it, ever. Another part of him felt as if someone close to him had died. He fought of the feeling, and willed a block of ice to form in his gut. He looked at his reflection in the mirror as he dried his hands. He wished he could go back in time and find some point where he could change things. He wished his mother was still there, nothing seemed this complicated when she was alive. Everything had been so simple. There was too much going on around him to deal with all at once, and he wanted it to go away and stop nagging at him. He drew in a deep breath, sure that Jack would come looking for him if he didn't emerge from the restroom soon. He turned and looked at the door for a long moment before he walked over to open it and head to his room to face Jack, though it was the last thing he wanted right then.


	64. Chapter 64

Let me know what you think :)

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 64: Walls**

Macks ate his breakfast while Jordan washed dishes. The man shivered, but Macks wasn't certain if it was from fear or from the chill the room held. Macks used the house phone to call Higgins while he ate. He wanted an update on Green. He needed to know what the cops knew. Higgins didn't answer his phone. He tried twice more, and then abandoned the attempt. He'd catch up to Higgins later. He thought for a moment, while he worked on a few more bites of eggs.

He stood and got the whiskey in the middle of his meal, and of course Jones had something to say about that. He didn't think it was a good idea to start on the booze so early in the morning. He felt they should have some sense about them today. It was too important and they shouldn't be going through their motions with a blurry mind. Macks ignored him. Hell, he did his best work with the assistance of alcohol. Just look at how well he'd taken care of the Donna problem.

He grabbed a glass and the bottle and returned to the table, driving down Jones' argument. He didn't need the shit from him, not today. This was his day. He was the one in charge, and he was going to play it out the way he wanted.

He poured a double shot of the soothing fire and downed it quickly. He returned to his bacon and eggs and then picked up the phone. He dialed the number he had for Timothy Dearth. He needed to know what was going on with the fucking story he'd given the man. He wanted some more money, and once they put the words into print he was going to demand some compensation. He tried the number twice, but as with Higgins there was no answer. He chanced a third call and the phone didn't ring, it went straight to voice mail. He felt some frustration building. He slammed the phone down on the table and he could see Jordan flinching out of the corner of his eye.

He sat back in his chair and poured another drink. His plate was half empty, but he'd lost any appetite he'd had. He was getting pissed that no one seemed to want to answer his phone calls. His eyes lifted to Jordan's back, at the sink. The man was washing the skillet. He had been running the scrubber around the pan for a while now, and it was clean. "Finish that up Bradley. I need to put you back in your new room while I'm gone." Macks growled out the words. "We can't have you pulling any of your stupid shit while I'm gone, now can we?"

Jordan's back seemed to hunker forward, as if a heavy weight had been placed there. Of course he didn't want to be locked up, no one would want that, but it was his own fault it had to be done. He shouldn't have tried something so stupid as to hang himself. Hell, the idiot almost succeeded in finishing the job, but Macks wasn't about to let him know that. It would open the door to his little buddy trying it again, and he couldn't have that. "If you're a good boy, I'll give you a nice little treat before locking you up tight." Macks downed his drink quickly and picked up the bottle. "You want a drink Jordan? It might help calm your nerves."

Jordan started rinsing the pan, making slow and meticulous movements. "No thank you." His voice sounded weak and small and seemed to go with the way he carried himself.

Macks poured himself another drink as he watched Jordan carefully place the pan in the drainer and empty the sink of water. He was surprised when the man didn't bother to dry his hands before he turned and slowly stepped towards the doorway. Adam grinned and picked up his drink to down it in one large gulp while he stood and followed his captive.

Once he had Jordan confined and safe he would be able to go find Higgins, or Dearth. If they wouldn't answer their phones, he'd find them. He needed to know what the hell he would have to deal with. Once he had some news he would check out the Mercer house. If the Mercers were barricading themselves in against his next move, as he hoped they would, he needed to know. There was a chance they would come after him too, they seemed to like a good hunt, and he would need to be ready for that possibility.

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Jack found jeans and a sweatshirt for Craig, and almost walked to the restroom to give him the clothes. He made it as far as the bedroom doorway and froze. When Bobby had come into his room that morning to wake him, he'd already been up and dressed long enough to have smoked two cigarettes. Bobby had shared with him then that he'd talked to Craig a little; trying to dig at the kid for some kind of reaction, only to be met with the same cold walls from a few weeks earlier, and it worried him. Bobby told him then that there could be no more running from it, he had to talk to the younger Mercer and tell him as much as he could handle saying.

Jack dreaded this and he'd tried to reason with himself that it could wait. He had busied himself gathering up Higgins' home address and packing some things for Craig to take with him to the motel, though they hadn't decided on what motel they were going to be hiding him away in. He'd managed to sneak a few long stares at the boy as he walked past the dining room and the boy. He was falling back into that hole he'd dug for himself after Sweet's torture, and again after his brothers had tracked him down in Ohio. He had noticed the look on Craig's face; that closed off expression that was meant to keep everyone at a distance. Jack knew Bobby was right, and he had to say something to him now, before any of them went their separate ways to track down Macks. Craig had heard enough the night before to raise doubts in him and it had to be faced. Jack knew he had to face the kid, and tell him the truth, enough of the truth that he could regain at least a little of the trust that seemed to have been lost. He couldn't get the dizziness to let up on his stomach though.

He didn't want Craig to know the things he'd done or the way he had turned himself into the one thing that he couldn't stand. How was he supposed to tell Craig that he'd submerged his emotions into a numb sea of drugs and self destruction? How was he supposed to explain to him that he hadn't been able to kill the pain any other way? He'd been preaching to the kid that it would get better, that there was hope for getting past the nightmare he'd been forced to live through and now he was going to admit to him that it hadn't so simple for him.

He'd been so desperate to kill the pain that he'd taken money from men in exchange for letting them violate him in the same way he'd been violated when he was younger. He'd allowed strangers to draw blood and treat him as if he were nothing more than a slab of meat. At the time he'd reasoned that it wasn't the same, he was doing it willingly, for the money, so that he could afford the chemical numbness that he so desperately needed. In the end he felt dirty, and worthless. The same lack of self esteem that he'd carried around when he was younger was magnified a thousand times, and it would spur him on to offer his services to those willing to pay, so that he could make more money for stronger drugs in order to find an even higher level of escape from what he was doing to himself.

He'd managed to hide it for a while, and by the time his mother and brothers started to suspect he was acting on such destructive instincts he was too far gone to listen to reason. They had tried. They hunted him down quite a few times and dragged him home against his will. Bobby stayed in his room many nights to prevent him from running off and finding a high paying customer who wanted to get his kicks from a teenager willing to do and take anything asked of them. It wasn't until the night Macks had forced himself on him that anything any of his family had been saying to him made any sense. He'd been lucky to get away from Macks alive, and he knew that. He'd been sure he was dead when he'd seen the knife in Macks' hand, and he had fought with all he had, but he had already gotten himself high, and he wasn't strong enough to fend off the attack. He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten away from the man.

He'd heard before that sometimes a person had to hit rock bottom before they could start dragging themselves out of that pit leading to death. Macks had been his rock bottom, and there had been no other way for him to go but up. He'd managed to get his shit together. Evelyn had been the key; the counseling she'd forced him into had helped, but she had been the key. She had been there to hold onto him and sooth him when he suffered the cravings for the drugs his body had become so accustomed to. He'd had to face his past, and ask the questions that had always nagged at him. Why him? What was wrong with him that made it so easy for someone to hold him down and inflict that kind of pain? Breaking bones and hitting him hadn't been enough. He'd been humiliated, and trained to be frightened and to never trust anyone.

Evelyn taught him to trust, and from there he'd been able to move on. It wasn't easy, hell there were times when he still felt tempted to return to the old ways, to the familiarity of it all. He still struggled with nightmares, and he still reached out to his mother for support, he always would have her to fall back on. She was gone now, but he had her words and her love inside of him, and he held onto that with all his heart and soul.

Watching Craig going through the same kind of emotions, knowing the humiliation he had suffered, being dehumanized and treated as if he were nothing but an object to be used for the amusement of others, had brought so much of Jack's own past back, more than he cared to admit. The last thing he wanted was for Craig to think that he had to travel the same road before he could dig himself out of that hole he was burrowing down into. He knew how easy it was to follow someone else's example, and think that it was normal, or that it would help. He wanted Craig to be able to skip the part of his nightmare that would take him into the dark alley ways and land him on his knees for a few dollars or a hit of something to help him hide from the real pain.

Jack gave his head a slight shake and ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it back away from his eyes. He turned and put the clothes down on top of the dresser. He had been in the room a short time before, to gather some things to pack up for the kid. He'd grabbed his sketch pad and pencil and put them in the bag he'd put together, now he wished he'd left them out. If he had it there with him now, he might be able to use that to his advantage, somehow. He looked at the small cars lining the windowsill, and wondered where the hell they had come from. He didn't remember seeing them there earlier; though he was sure they had to have been in the same spot when he was in there before. He shivered as he remembered doing the same thing with some of his toys when he was younger. Lining any possible entry to his room with super hero dolls to ward off the bad guys who might try to break into his room and invade his safety.

Jack turned back to the door to find Craig stranding there. He pointed to the dresser. "Your clothes are there." He announced.

Craig stepped into the cramped quarters and picked up the sweatshirt. He looked at Jack, but didn't say anything. He seemed to be waiting for the man to leave the room so that he could dress. Jack knew that's what he was waiting on, and he almost walked to the door. Instead he ran his tongue along his lips and cleared his throat loudly. "Craig, sit down here." He pointed to the bed.

Craig stared at Jack for a long moment, and looked as if he were about to say something, but instead he complied with Jack's request and moved to the bed to sit down.

"I packed a bag for you, but if there's something you want that I might have forgotten, you can grab it." Jack spoke quickly, trying desperately to work up his nerve to get down to the real purpose of having the boy sit down.

Craig shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the shirt he still held in his hands.

"Bobby talked to you earlier, I know that. He told me." Jack drew in a deep breath. "You know, I didn't want you to know about it. It was part of my past, and there are somethings that, even though some people know what happened, I'm not proud of it, and I still don't deal with some of it very well." Jack felt his stomach spinning again. "You know what I mean?"

Craig didn't look up, or show any response at all. Jack nodded his head. "I knew Adam Macks, but I didn't know his name. I didn't know who he was, and I damn sure didn't like the son of a bitch." He said the words quickly. "I only met him a few times. I guess I should have told you, but I wasn't sure you would understand it."

Craig still showed no kind of reaction.

"I was messed up Craig. I came here when I was eleven years old, and I'd learned not to trust anyone by then. It took a long time for me to feel like I really fit in here. But even after I felt like I belonged, there was still a lot that I was holding in, and I didn't know how to get it out. I couldn't talk to anyone. I mean, I had told them all what had happened when I was little, but there was never any deep conversations about how I felt, and I never let onto any one that it stuck with me like it did. I did other things, trying to hide from the shit I was fighting every night when I went to sleep. It didn't work, and I didn't want you to know about any of that. I still don't want to tell you about it. I won't tell you about it because it's not something you need to know. It's my story, but it's not gonna be yours. That's not going to happen." Jack knew he was talking too fast, running his words together. His thoughts weren't organized, and he wasn't sure how to pull them together at that moment and have them make any sense.

Craig looked up at him, finally. His eyes looked hollow. "I need to get dressed now." He muttered the words.

"You don't want to talk to me about this." Jack moved towards the bed, to sit next to the boy, but as soon as he sat down Craig stood.

"Not really." Craig turned away from him.

"Craig, you're pissed because I didn't tell you that I knew Macks, right?" Jack pushed. "You know, that's not what I was trying to hide. I didn't even know who he was until you drew his picture. I didn't want you to know how I couldn't handle some things."

"I need to get dressed." Craig kept his back to him.

Jack closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, fighting off the hurt that Craig's lack of emotion was drawing out in him. "I'm sorry Craig, but I do love you, and I want to talk about this." He did want to talk. He needed to feel that Craig understood, at least partially, the reason that he hadn't told him anything about his past.

"You didn't want to tell me about it. It's none of my business anyway, right?" Craig sounded calm, almost as if he didn't care about the words Jack had spoken to him.

"Wrong. It's not like that." Jack shook his head and finally opened his eyes. "Look at me." He kept his gaze on Craig's back.

Craig stepped over to the dresser and put the shirt down long enough to pull off the one he was wearing. He proceeded to change his shirts, and then stepped out of his sweatpants. He pulled on his jeans and fastened them in silence. He opened a drawer on the dresser and dug out clean socks before turning back to locate the shoes he'd left next to the bed. He didn't look at Jack the whole time.

"Hey, look at me." Jack stood quickly and grabbed the boy's arm before he could reach down for the shoes.

Craig seemed to freeze. He didn't look at Jack, but his muscles tenses up and his jaw set firmly. "I don't care Jack." He muttered. "I don't care what you did or didn't do before. It doesn't matter."

Jack could feel the ice coating each word. He let go of the boy and fought down the mixture of frustration and bruised feelings. "It does matter, to me. I care about what you think of me Craig, can't you understand that?"

"Not really. It's not like anyone cared what I thought before. Why start now?" Craig reached for his shoes and held them in his hands with his socks. "We should get back downstairs."

Jack felt his gut twist at the sound of Craig's words. He wanted to say something more, but was sure if he tried to challenged the boy's statement it would only put more walls up. Craig wasn't happy with him right now, and he would just shut down on him. "You're gonna want to talk later, right? When you do, you come to me and ask whatever you want to ask, okay?" Jack wanted to grab hold of the kid and make him look at him, make him listen to what he was trying to say, but he fought down the urge. He could see the detachment in Craig's eyes, and it scared him. He was sure if he pushed harder it would drive the wedge that had formed between them even further, until there was no hope of reaching him.

Craig shrugged his shoulders and allowed a brief glance in Jack's direction.

"Okay. Let's go." Jack motioned towards the door.

Craig didn't hesitate. He walked with quick steps ahead of Jack. Jack followed, wishing that somehow he could find the magic words that would get through to the kid. There was more than anger in Craig. The boy had pulled walls around him in too short a time. Jack was sure there was something more there than Macks' return and his own past being found out. There was something deeper, and he was at a loss as to what it might be. All he could really do was wait and watch.

Bobby had seen the problem was growing, but he had been sure it had to do with Craig hearing their talk; and while that had obviously been part of it, there was more. Jack had managed to keep some of his own secrets concerning his experiences and the impact they'd had on him, was Craig hiding something more, keeping secrets of his own? Something that perhaps had been stirred up by finding out Jack had been holding back with him? He knew from experience that the slightest, most innocent acts by others could be snowballed into larger, more complicated issues fueled by totally unrelated experiences. Was Craig using the overheard conversation as a means of venting other emotions that he couldn't release any other way? He would have to keep an eye on him, and try to figure it out.


	65. Chapter 65

Thanks to all for reading and thanks for the reviews! I think the boys are finally going to get down to business, I just hope they hurry up, the suspence is killing me :) Let me know what you think.

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 65: New Years Eve**

Craig found his way to the couch, relieved that the awkward encounter with Jack was over. He didn't want to hear Jack's story, that's all it would be, a story. Jack wasn't going to tell him the truth now. He hadn't told him before, and there was no reason to believe he'd tell him now. He avoided looking at Jack, who followed him into the living room, and hesitated for a long moment while Craig sat on the couch and started putting on his socks and shoes.

Craig waited until Jack turned and walked to the dining room before he chanced a quick glance just in time to see Jack stop next to Bobby at the table, shrug his shoulders and then whisper something to him. Craig flicked his attention back down to his foot and slid a sock onto it before Bobby could turn and look at him. He didn't care what his brothers said or did he was through falling for their games. He wasn't going to let himself open up to the promises they made him. They would only lie to him; he would end up losing everything. He needed to make sure he didn't get in their way, and he needed to stay separated from them. He believed it more now than ever.

He hadn't wanted to listen to Jack, but he had. His words had revealed more than he'd expected. He was telling Craig that his past was his, and Jack's past was separate, and they weren't the same, though they were close. He had heard Jack telling him that he'd known his father, but hadn't known who he was, but he had no way of knowing if Jack was being honest now. If he'd been lying to him all along, how was he supposed to trust what he said now? He couldn't trust anything any of his brothers said. It seemed that every time they made a promise to him he ended up disappointed and feeling as if he'd been expecting too much. He wasn't going to expect anything. It was easier that way.

Craig sat back on the couch and looked into the dining room to watch his brothers gathering around the table to talk. Bobby was dressed in black, and was wearing his wool hat. He wondered just what the four men had planned, and wished he could walk into the room to find out. He knew if he did that he would just be sent out. They didn't want him around.

He decided not to watch the conversation taking place in the next room. He picked the television remote up and turned on the box on the other side of the room. He started flipping through the channels, a habit he'd picked up since his brothers had been home. He couldn't help but feel as if he was picking up habits from his brothers and he had to make himself stop. He had to stop letting them influence him.

He tried to convince himself that his brothers were pushing him further away, though deep down he knew he was the one doing the pushing. He had to turn off his feelings. As long as he kept everyone at a distance he wouldn't care about what happened that day, no matter what the outcome. If his brothers took care of his father, got rid of this threat, then he wouldn't have to worry about what the man might do to him. If his father killed his brothers, he could avoid the pain of losing them, so long as he kept his feelings turned off, and kept his emotions detached so that he couldn't experience them.

He forced his mind to block out the events that were being mapped out in the next room, and concentrated on the channels that were flashing before him with each press of the button on the remote. He watched part of a talk show, but wasn't really interested in it.

"Hey, did you hear me?" Bobby called from the dining room.

Craig looked over to the doorway to find his brother standing there, looking at him. "What?" He asked quietly, and turned his attention back to the talk show that he didn't really care about.

"I said get your coat, we're getting ready to go." Bobby spoke stepped over to the television and turned it off. "You want to take anything with you?"

Craig shook his head, and put the remote down. He realized Jack and Camille were the only other two people left in the dining room. It looked as if his brothers were putting their plans into action, whatever they might be, and Jerry, Angel and Sofi were gone. He found it odd that he hadn't noticed them leaving, but he had been blocking out everything going on in the next room.

"Get your coat." Bobby repeated and pointed towards the foyer.

Craig stood and walked to the front hall. He pulled his coat from the hook and put it on before he walked back to the living room. He felt numb inside. He wasn't sure where they were going, and he wanted to ask, but in order to do that he had to let himself care about where they were going. If he cared about where they were going he would have to let himself care about other things, and he couldn't do that without opening himself up to be hurt. Jack was holding his own duffle bag, and Camille was carrying a paper bag.

"You got enough to get you by for a day or two?" Bobby was facing Camille.

"Sofi had plenty of clothes upstairs, and I think I have enough here, but we aren't going to be there long, right? I don't want to be away from my own home long Bobby. I got my little girls to think about." Camille shook her head.

"Don't worry; you'll be home with your babies at least by morning. That's a promise." Bobby spread a wide grin in Camille's direction before turning to Jack. "You got his pills in there?" He pointed to the duffle in Jack's grip.

"Yeah, and some snacks too." Jack nodded his head.

Bobby turned back to Craig. "My car is out front." He pointed towards the front door.

"So, where are we staying?" Camille asked quickly.

"Don't know for sure yet, but I got a place in mind." Bobby walked towards Craig, dropping an arm across his shoulders as he met up with him and started to guide him towards the front door.

Craig felt his body freeze inside at the feel of Bobby's arm on him. He resisted the urge to pull away from the man, but he hadn't been able to hide his tension. Bobby stopped, pulling the boy to a halt with him. He pulled his arm away and turned to face him. "Okay, tell me what the hell your problem is." He spoke quickly.

Camille and Jack had been following and nearly ran into the man and boy. "Bobby now might not be the best time." Jack spoke quickly. "We're on a schedule, remember?"

"Fuck the schedule." Bobby glanced at Jack but returned his stare to Craig. "You want to tell me what the hell is going on?" He let his hands fall on Craig's shoulders, and Craig instinctively tried to shrug out from under them. That only resulted in both hands taking a hard grip and giving him one sharp shake.

"Let go of me." Craig muttered, lowering his eyes from his oldest brother. He was sure if he looked at Bobby the man would be able to look inside of him and see what he was thinking and feeling, or not feeling in this case.

"Let go of you? Little boy we ain't leaving this house until I know what the fuck is wrong. You have been pulling this all morning." Bobby's voice sounded strained. "You still pissed because you weren't told some shit?" He asked. "What is it?"

Craig shook his head slowly. He wasn't pissed, he wasn't anything. He was just taking care of himself for a change. Taking care of his feelings and guarding against being hurt, that was all, and if he told himself that enough he would actually believe it.

"Look at me and talk to me. I ain't gonna let you start this shit, it don't matter what the hell is going on." Bobby's right hand raised from Craig's left shoulder long enough to cup his chin and raise his face up so that Craig had no choice but to look at him. "You got something you want to say to me?"

"No." Craig muttered and tried to pull back from Bobby.

"Yes you do, you got a problem with something we're doing here? You don't want to go to a motel?" Bobby was pushing, and it was making it more difficult for Craig to hold back with what he wanted to say.

Craig bit at the inside of his mouth to help him keep control and not let his thoughts spill out in front of him. His first instinct was to deny that Bobby was right, but it gave him something to say besides the truth. "You already said I had to. You told me I couldn't argue when you said I had to do something." He reminded Bobby of the statement he had made the night before, though that had been pertaining to his eating before he went to bed, it still counted, and it sounded good.

"I said you couldn't argue about shit, but you're allowed to speak up and let us know if you're unhappy about it. I know you don't want to go, and to be honest, you not sayin' so worries me more than hearing you bitch about it." Bobby shook his head and sighed. "I never said you weren't allowed to talk to me Craig, or anyone else. You need to get shit out, that's a good thing. I just wanted you to understand that somethings you don't have to like, but you still gotta do them. This is one of those things. I don't want to leave you in a room somewhere, I ain't got a choice. Macks might be watching the house, and I ain't gonna leave you and Camille here where he can get to you. If you are at a motel he won't know where you are."

Craig was surprised that Bobby actually couldn't see the conflict inside of him. He wanted Bobby to see it and somehow take it away. It was confusing, feeling the need to put the walls up and still wishing for Bobby to tear them down. He felt as if he were being ripped in two, one part of him swaying towards blurting out to Bobby all of the fears and doubts building in him, and the other pulling him back to turn inside of himself and push it all down. He drew in a deep breath, not sure what he was going to say until after the words passed between his lips. "That worked out real good the last time." He felt the anger behind his words and was sure Bobby felt them as they hit the air.

Bobby's eyebrows rose slightly. "This is different Craig. We know what the hell we're fighting against. We're gonna get to him before he even knows we're coming, and you need to be somewhere safe. I ain't draggin' your ass around with me and take a chance on you getting in the line of fire. I can't do that."

"You did it before." Craig muttered. "Why can't I go with you? I'll stay out of the way; I'll do what you tell me to." Craig wasn't sure why he was bothering to voice his own thoughts. He knew it wouldn't do any good.

Bobby looked frustrated. "Because this is different, this is Macks. He's after you. Don't you get that? If you are with us when we find him he's gonna be going after you. We wouldn't be able to focus on him; we'd be too fucking worried about you. I don't want you in the middle of this Craig, you don't need to see it or be a part of it. Not this time." He turned and looked at Jack and then back to Craig. "You think you can handle staying still in a motel room for a little bit? It ain't like you're gonna be there for days at a time. If things work out the way we plan you'll be home long before bedtime."

"Sure." Craig muttered, wishing Bobby would let go of him.

"You just hang on for a little while longer, and maybe you'll get a surprise when all of this is over." Bobby gave his chin a little more lift. "Okay?"

Craig swallowed back the urge to tell Bobby he didn't trust his promises. He didn't want a surprise, he didn't want a reward for doing what he was told, or behaving the way Bobby wanted. He wasn't sure at that moment what it was he did want.

Bobby sighed and let loose his hold on Craig. He dropped his arm across his shoulders again. "When this is all over, we're all gonna sit down and have a good talk. I think there's some shit we need to get straight." He spoke calmly as he pulled Craig to the door.

* * *

Jeremiah plugged his cell phone up to the car charger as soon as he got into the driver's seat. He needed his phone charged and ready. He silently cursed at himself for not thinking to charge it the night before. He was sure he could have used Angel's charger when they got to the house the night before, but it had been the last thing on his mind as they had discussed how they were going to approach the day. He drove carefully through the fairly thin traffic. It was Saturday morning, New Year's Eve, and most people were sleeping off the effects a premature holiday celebration.

He parked Camille's car down the street from Jessup Winston's building and locked it up tight, leaving his phone resting on the console. He wanted to give it as much time to charge as he could. He turned and looked at the building. He hadn't expected be trying to gain access into Winston's building again. He hadn't thought of how he was going to get past security. He wasn't a good actor, like Angel, and he wasn't sure what kind of story he could come up with for getting inside, but he'd try to come up with something.

Jeremiah walked down the sidewalk, tugging his gloves onto his hands as he approached the entrance of the building. His mind was still trying to work on some kind of story to gain access to the elevator. He was in deep thought and nearly ran into a couple who was making their way towards the same door. "I'm sorry." He spoke to them politely.

"Not a problem." The gentleman took the woman's arm, reached out to the keypad next to the security door and punched in a pin number.

Jeremiah had planned on using the call button to get into the building, but this was much more convenient. He smiled and quickly reached out to grab hold of the door handle, pulling it open as soon as he heard that liberating 'click' as the magnetic lock holding it in place released its hold. He motioned for the couple to step in before him and then followed as casually as he could manage. He remained close to the couple, walking past the security staff behind the counter. He smiled at the couple again when all three of them stopped at the elevator. He reached down and hit the call button as if he'd been there a thousand times, making himself look and feel at home.

The elevator doors slid open and Jeremiah stepped onto the car. He hit the button for the fifteenth floor and smiled at the kind couple who had solved the dilemma he'd been facing as to how he was going to get past security. "What floor?" He asked.

"Six please." The woman responded and gave Jeremiah a small smile of thanks.

Jeremiah leaned against the wall and thought about the last time he'd rode up the elevator with his brothers. It had been so long since he'd joined in on any of their schemes, and it had felt good to be a part of their plans as they tried to track down Craig. He had felt that gap between them close in and the closeness of his brothers that he'd missed for so many years had truly returned then. Sure, he'd been glad to see them before, and he loved them, but the closeness they'd shared when they were younger didn't really seem to return until they were thrown into the search Macks had led them on.

Hell, his own brothers had been ready to accuse him of being in on his own mother's murder. He'd been carrying around resentment at his three brothers for not growing up enough to settle down and be close. It had been better after Sweet was taken care of, but there had still been some uneasiness between them, at least for him there had been. It wasn't until the shit started coming down from Macks, and they all knew they had to work together to find Craig that it seemed the awkwardness had been wiped completely clean. He was glad his brothers had the chance to go out and do and see shit he had never done and seen, and he couldn't very well blame them for needing to let some of their wild run loose, but they were home now, and they all seemed happy with being there. Once Macks had been dealt with they were going to finally get their lives in order.

The doors opened on the sixth floor and the couple nodded to him as they exited the elevator. Jeremiah smiled at them and returned the nod. "Ya' all have nice New Year." He called to them. The doors closed and he sighed as he waited patiently to reach Winston's floor. He hoped Bobby and Angel's luck went as good as it seemed his was going.

The outside of Winston's door was in front of him a short time later. He tapped on it lightly, and waited for a moment before giving the door a second tap. He turned his head slightly and listened for any sound coming from the other side of the door. He was met with silence and wondered if Winston could still be in bed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the same tool Jack had been so quick to make fun of the night before. He pulled opened up one of the smaller flat head drivers and slid it into the lock of the door. There were a few things he still remembered from his youth, though he was a little rusty at breaking and entering. He was finding the adrenaline rush satisfying.

The lock popped after a few minutes of struggling with the feel of the tumbler, and he made a mental note to himself to work on this rusty skill a little bit when he had the spare time. He pushed the door open and cautiously peeked into the apartment. The air was still and silent. The morning light was bright enough for him to see the boxes stacked around him, but there was no sign of Winston. He stepped inside and closed the door carefully, not wanting to wake the man if he was in his bed. He walked around the boxes and wondered just where Winston was planning on moving. Green had said that the man had lost everything, and apparently it was true. He was going to have to give up his fancy home with the marble shit under his feet and the wall of glass on one end. He almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost, hell at least Winston's marble and glass hadn't been blown out from under him.

"Jessup, get your ass out of bed. You got shit to do." Jeremiah walked to the bedroom door and pushed it open. He was expecting to find Winston laying in his silk sheets and wearing silk pajamas. He found the bed was neatly made. There were more boxes in the bedroom packed up and other items sitting out, ready to be packed away. Hell either Winston got up damn early or he hadn't been home at all.

Jerry walked out of the bedroom and moved through the rest of the apartment, checking the restroom and the kitchen to be sure there was no one hiding anywhere. "Shit." He muttered to himself. "Where the hell are you?" He spoke to himself. He walked over to the table where some papers were spread out. He studied them and found a name written on one accompanied by one word scribbled underneath, demolitions.

Jeremiah sighed as he made the connection. Winston had to have been involved with the explosions that had rocked his warehouse the night before. If he was involved, he could very well have been the dead man that was pulled out of the ashes. He felt anger and disappointment bite at him hard. "Son of a bitch," he muttered as he folded the sheet of paper and stuffed into his coat pocket.

He checked out other notes on the table, but nothing else seemed to grab his attention. Once he was sure he'd gone through anything that might hold something promising he gave up and retreated back to the door. He needed to get back to his car and give Bobby a call. He needed to let him know what he found. He was sure his next move would be to track down the name on the paper, find out what he knew about demolitions and explosives, and see if there was a connection with his business being blown out from under him.


	66. Chapter 66

Let me know what you think, and thanks as always for reading and for the reviews! (Angel and Sofi just had to have their moment!)

Legal stuff still counts.

* * *

**Chapter 66: Riding On The Bus**

Angel let Sofi get on the bus ahead of him. He deposited the money for both of them and pointed to a seat halfway down row of seats. The bus was mostly empty, but he didn't want to be too close to the driver or the few passengers near the front. He wanted to be able to talk without being overheard. Not that they really needed to talk right now, he was confident that Sofi knew her part, even if it was small.

Sofi dropped down into the seat and slid towards the window to give Angel room next to her. "I miss my car." She muttered quietly. "I want my car."

"I know exactly how you feel." Angel drew in a deep breath. "Don't worry; I'm sure your brother can find you a ride without any problem."

"That was my own car Angel. My brother didn't get it for me; he didn't have anything to do with it. It was mine, and I loved that car." Sofi's last statement turned slightly whiny and pitiful.

Angel grinned and looked down at her. "Let it go baby, it was just a car."

"To you it was just a car." Sofi let out a huff. "Do you remember the first time we did it?" Sofi asked with no warning.

"Now what the hell does that have to do with a fucking car?" Angel hadn't expected the question and was thrown off by it.

"You don't remember, do you?" Sofi's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I do, but what the hell does it have to do with your car?" Angel cried out.

A few head's from the front of the bus turned their way.

Sofi adjusted her position in the seat so that she was sitting sideways, her back to the window. The arms of her pink coat rustled with the sound of fabric against fabric and they folded in front of her as she was forming a barrier between them. "Sweetie, where were we the first time we did it?" Her voice took on an icy chill.

Angel scowled at her. "Baby, this is not the time to be bringing that shit up, and you still haven't told me what the hell it has to do with your car."

"Sentimentality, do you even know what that means Angel? You don't remember the first time, do you?" Sofi's eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened.

"Sentimentality; damn woman, our first time was in the chemistry lab in high school, in the back row, underneath that shelf full of beakers. You gonna tell me that you got some kind of sentimental attachment to a fucking beaker now?" Angel shook his head slowly. "What does that have to do with your car?"

Sofi stared at Angel for along moment before her eyes clouded over. "Okay, that was the first time, wasn't it?" She looked a little confused for a moment, and Angel was sure she'd been reminded of an event she had forgotten.

Yeah, something to bring up later, maybe during an argument where he was in deep shit; he could remind his woman that she hadn't remembered their first time together and he had. "The first time you came home on leave?" Sofi asked quickly, as if she knew she had blown it and handed him ammunition for later. She was trying to regain control here.

"What?" Angel threw both of his hands up as if surrendering, when in fact he simply didn't want to give her the leverage she was seeking. "I give up. What the hell is your point?" He asked, growing irritated with the game.

Sofi stared at him for a moment, apparently accepting that she had slipped up, and trying to decide how to proceed with her point. "Oh, baby, you just have to understand it was my first car. The first thing I went out and got on my own. It was special." Sofi's expression changed from determined to one of a heartsick teenager, her voice taking on a pouty texture. "Like the first moment I laid my eyes on you, or the first touch I felt from your hand." She reached out and took a hold of the man's hand to pull iit close to her.

Angel sighed and looked into Sofi's eyes, trying to feel irritated, but not able to. He smiled. "To be honest with you I was kind of attached to those beakers. Every time I picked one up I could hear that clinking sound they made right above us, they kept a rhythm with us, you know?" He leaned closer to her. "I know just what you're saying, but there's not a damn thing we can do about the car right now. Let's just go after the bastard who smashed your car under an exploding wall, okay?"

"Yes, let's do that." Sofi smiled back at him and leaned in for a kiss.

The bus came to a stop and three people exited, vacating the back seats completely. Sofi watched the two men and woman walking past them up the aisle and raised her eyebrows at Angel. "You know, the back seat always has the most privacy." She purred the words out between her lips.

"You are so bad." Angel shook his head, his lips still close to hers. "You really think we need to be getting something like that started now?" He was tempted, and he could tell that Sofi could feel the temptation rising in him.

"We're going to be on this bus for twenty five minutes; I think we need something to help calm our nerves, don't you?" Sofi grinned and gave him an easy push towards the end of the seat.

Angel stood and took hold of her hand, allowing her to pull him down the empty seats to the back of the bus. The diesel engine ground out a whine and the vehicle lurched forward just as they reached the seat, allowing him to fall on top of her and disguise the move as an accident. He looked down at her, and grinned. "Hang on baby; this could be a bumpy ride."

The bus came to several more stops and each time Angel stole a peek over the back of the seat in front of them to be certain no one was heading their way. A few times he had to clamp his hand over Sofi's mouth for fear that she would raise suspicion from the other passengers or the driver at the front of the bus as her moans grew in volume. As they neared their stop Sofi nearly screamed out and her back tried to arch under him, raising him up just enough that he was in clear view of the rest of the occupants. He could feel his face flushing slightly when an older woman turned in her seat and looked back in their direction. He quickly pushed down hard and planted a hard kiss on Sofi's mouth to squelch the sounds forming in her throat as the burst of heat between them erupted into liquid fire.

They lay there for a short moment looking into each other's eyes before Angel sucked in a long breath and steeled his self enough to pull back. "We gotta go baby." He didn't give her time to prepare for the abrupt end to their encounter before he pulled away and closed up the gap in his pants. He sat up in the seat, trying to look as dignified as he could, given the situation. Sofi fastened different articles of clothing before sliding into a comfortable position next to him.

The brakes on the bus took hold and the sound air being released through the hoses signaled they had reached the end of their ride. The two of them made their way up the aisle as the bus came to a stop. The woman who had turned in her seat just minutes before let out what could be described as a hiss and muttered just loud enough for them to hear her, "Disgusting."

Sofi turned to the older woman and smiled. "Jealous?" She smiled and continued to the door. Angel rolled his eyes and followed Sofi from the bus, not daring a look at the driver as he stepped down to the curb.

The two of them started their walk down the street, checking the house numbers to their right, but staying on the opposite side of the street. "You know what to do?" Angel asked quickly as they walked.

"I go to the door and cry to him about my boyfriend being arrested." Sofi didn't look at him. "Do you think he's going to recognize me?"

"He might, but I'll be close." Angel shrugged his shoulders. "Just keep him occupied while I find another way into the house." Angel smiled as he looked across the street to check the numbers on the houses. "We're getting close."

Minutes later they had the small house in their sights. Angel pulled Sofi close and gave her a quick kiss before he moved across the street and between some houses to try to make his way through the back yards unseen. He crouched down behind some bushes stretching bare branches in thick layers, enough to cover his approach if anyone should look his way. He turned back to Sofi and pointed at his watch to remind her to give him three minutes. She gave a slight nod, and he was sure he could see nerves showing on her face. He pulled his black leather gloves out of his pocket and slid them onto his hands with care.

He turned and moved along the fence line, through an unlatched gate and into the back yard of the house two lots down from Higgins' address. He prayed the information Jack had found on the internet was right and Higgins was a divorced, middle aged man with no one in the house besides him. They were assumptions really, after Jack had found divorce records online. He wouldn't want to scare anyone else; his goal was to put some fear into Higgins for the time being, and only Higgins.

He made sure there was no one around before making his way past a wood jungle gym and slide. He wasn't fazed by the chain link fence dividing the yard from the neighboring house tucked into the next small lot. He jumped the fence cringed inwardly. The back yard was bare, nothing to use to cover his advance towards Higgins' back yard. He drew in a deep breath and moved close to the house. He slid up against the yellow siding to move forward under the windows, hoping that if anyone should happen to look out they wouldn't look down and see him. The fence on the other side of the yard was another chain link, and he was thankful for that. The rest of the fence around Higgins' yard was a tall wooden privacy fence that looked as if it were still under construction.

Angel cleared the fence and felt the electricity spike through his body. He felt the rush that he loved run through him as he moved to the far corner of the small, salt box house, hoping to be able to hear Sofi's voice from the front porch. It was a quiet neighborhood, and it was early in the morning, hopefully early enough that Higgins would be caught still tired, and possibly off of his guard. He wasn't able to hear his woman's voice, but to his surprise there was a window open on the side of the house, just within his reach, and he could hear the doorbell ring a moment later. Angel grinned and moved to the window, looking in to find a small bedroom, crammed with a double sized bed, a dresser and a bedside stand. He the closet door was standing open, a pile of dirty clothes spilling out across the floor.

"Yeah, what do you want?" A voice laced with irritation spoke out, and for a short second Angel was sure he'd been seen. Then he realized that the tiny house positioned this bedroom directly off the living room, making the front door and Sofi extremely close.

"Are you Higgins?" Sofi's voice filled the house. "I was told to ask for Detective Higgins."

"There is no Detective Higgins, not any more. Whatever you're selling I ain't buyin'." Higgins' voice sounded gruff.

"My boyfriend was arrested, and if you don't help me he's going to prison. I was told you would help." Sofi spoke with tears filling her words. "You have got to help me. I'm going to have his baby, he can't go to prison, what will I do without him?" She kept going, but Angel stopped listening as he pushed the window open and started climbing into the room. He smiled when he heard Higgins trying to shut Sofi up. It didn't do any good, Sofi talked even louder, raising her voice over the man's. "You have to help me; I was told you would help me. I have the money to pay you, but I can't have this baby alone, I need my boyfriend, he's going to marry me, and we are going to be a family!" Sofi's skills for drama were taking over.

Angel closed the window latched it to prevent Higgins from using it as a route of escape, should he managed to get past him somehow, though that was unlikely. He stepped through the door, into the living room, and quietly moved towards Higgins' back.

"Who sent you to me? What the hell do I look like, some kind of welfare worker? If your boyfriend is in trouble, there's nothing I can do." Higgins' sounded pissed, and his right hand reached out towards Sofi who had managed to push her way into the house.

The off duty cop was about to grab Sofi by the arm as Angel came up directly behind him. Angel pulled his pistol from his belt under his coat and made his move quickly, wrapping his left arm around the man's throat, successfully pulling him back from Sofi, and he pressed the barrel of the gun into the side right side of the man's head. "I sent her." He spoke with the threatening tone that he had perfected over the years. That quiet, but stiff tone that held no emotion.

Higgins stiffened under the strangle hold and didn't try to struggle. Angel looked at Sofi, who quickly closed the door and locked it. She turned back to Angel and smiled at him.

"But I guess we must have been mistaken, I'm not in jail after all. I'm just in this shit hole with a dirty cop." Angel glanced around the pig pen surrounding him. The man's odor gave away the fact that he hadn't showered, probably in a couple of days. Even his greasy hair, so close to Angel's face seemed to emit a stench.

Sofi's hands went into her pockets and Angel glanced at the movement. She was turning on the recorder now, he was certain of it. "Higgins, why don't you have a seat over here?" Angel gave Higgins a push towards the couch, releasing his hold on him.

Higgins fell onto the couch hard and let out a moan. He looked up at Angel and his eyes squinted hard. "Angel Mercer." He kept his voice quiet. "You will be in jail, breaking and entering, and making threats. Both of you will face jail time for this." He looked at Sofi; the warning look seemed to focus on her.

Angel grinned. "I ain't made no threats, and as for breaking and entering, you opened the door and let the young lady in on your own, now ain't that right?" He kept the stiff tone in his voice, though he did try to disguise it.

"You broke into my home, and you're holding a gun on me." Higgins looked up at Angel. "If you shoot me, you shoot a cop, and you know what that means."

Angel smiled and nodded his head. "Now, according to your good friend, Jeff Jones, you would know all about shooting cops, now wouldn't you Higgins?" He watched the color drain from the cop's face but wasn't sure if it was the name he'd thrown out there for him, or hearing the accusation of his deed against Green being voiced so casually. Angel looked at Sofi and nodded his head. "You see, Baby, sometimes the best way to get to the truth is to get right down to business."

Sofi smiled, but didn't say a word. It had been discussed before that she wasn't to say a word once the recorder was running, that way she couldn't be identified by her voice, if for some reason there should be any kind of repercussions from law enforcement.

Angel looked back down at Higgins. "Now, you know you made a mistake falling in with a person like Jeff Jones, right?" Angel asked him and walked over to the end table next to the easy chair just opposite of the couch. He didn't want to sit on the chair; he was worried about what might be growing underneath the heap of old newspapers and empty sandwich wrappers that rested on the stained cushion. He used his free hand to swipe at the pile of used paper plates and empty beer cans, emptying them onto the floor, the aluminum cans clanking and bouncing as they hit the floor. He sat down on the table and gave Higgins his full attention. "Or should I correct myself, and say that you made a mistake getting mixed up with someone like Adam Macks?" His disgust for the man sitting in front of him raised bile in his throat, making his words sound more like a long string of growls.

"Adam Macks is dead." Higgins spoke quickly.

"No, he's not. You know that, and I know that. The cops know that too. You don't think they're complete idiots, do you Higgins? You are a cop, you should know the people you work with better than anyone." Angel resisted the urge to sigh. He needed to keep his demeanor void of emotion, just on the edge of threatening. Sighing didn't go well with threatening. "Do you really think your buddies down at the station won't figure out that you are the one that shot Green? They already have figured out you got a connection to Macks. They are putting it all together now, as we speak."

"That's a lie." Higgins hissed, but the fear was there, in his eyes. The eyes were always the window into a person's soul, and ultimately the truth about what they really were.

Angel allowed just a hint of a smile to flash towards Higgins. "Green remembers you being the first one to show up at the scene. He remembers that. A little too convenient, isn't it? You don't think they'll investigate just how you managed to get there so quickly? They already know you fired the shots from the abandoned restaurant. You are going down, and you got no one but yourself to blame for it. About all you could do to redeem yourself in any way would be to help us get Macks."

"Fuck you." Higgins hissed.

"No, you're fucking yourself." Angel shook his head. "Who do you think is going to go down for all the shit Macks is pulling? You are. He had you do the dirty deed Higgins. He'll leave you to take the heat for everything and he'll just move on. He does that. Just ask Winston. He left Jessup Winston in ruins. The man's got nothing left." Angel straightened his back slightly. "Ask the teenagers he dragged down into his hell hole. One of them ended up dead. You really think he's gonna keep your ass out of jail, or alive? He's going to be the death of you, and the end of you. You got no one to blame for that but yourself. The least you could do is try to help yourself out as much as you can and work with the cops instead of against them. Didn't you take a fucking oath? Did that mean nothing to you?"

Higgins laughed hard, "My oath? That oath is a joke. Do you know how many dirty cops there are on the force? Hell, I was never approached by Sweet, and when I tried to get a piece of that action I was laughed at. Just not good enough for scum like that I guess. Macks offered me more than money, he offered me some pride. Nothing wrong with a person needing a little pride now, is there?"

"Green seems to find being a good cop reason enough to be proud." Angel stated quickly.

"Yeah, he's still young. Wait until he's fifty something when his wife has left him because his job is too fucking demanding, and she takes him for all she can. Wait until he gets close to retirement and he's told he's gotta take a lower pay off than what's due him or work another ten years. Wait until his medical benefits are cut. He won't be so fucking proud then."

"Everyone has their sob stories Higgins, not everyone turns to a life of crime to vent their anger at the system." Angel almost choked on the words. He remembered the life he'd left behind when he'd joined the Marines. He remembered the anger that had drove him in his youth and the way he wanted to get back at the system for the childhood he'd been forced to survive before Evelyn Mercer took him in. He almost felt like a hypocrite with his words, but a small voice in the back of his mind reinforced his statement, telling him he had every right to speak the words because he'd learned his lessons, he'd lived it and been lucky enough to get past it. He had been angry at the system, but he'd been shown there were other ways to live, ways that were far more rewarding than wallowing in his own self pity.

Angel could see Higgins' eyes flicker, and he was sure he was getting through to him, but this was going to take longer than he'd expected. He hoped the man wasn't due in at the station any time soon. He needed some time to work his magic on him. The cell phone resting on the end table next to the couch rang out with no warning. Angel looked at Higgins, who seemed as startled as him by the ringing of the phone. "A little early for a phone call, ain't it Higgins?" He decided to play the phone call for all it was worth. "Who is it? Macks?"

Higgins' eyes flicked from the phone to Angel and back to the phone, but he remained silent and didn't make a move to pick up the call. Yep, this was going to take a little while longer….


	67. Chapter 67

Let me know your thoughts! :)

Still don't own, still make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 67: Reconnecting**

Jack climbed into the back seat of the car next to Craig, leaving the front passenger's seat to Camille. He drew in a deep breath and stole a glance back to the house as the car pulled away from the curb. He almost felt as if he were leaving behind something important, though he couldn't quite figure out what that something was. He glanced down at Craig, who was resting against the side of the car, his eyes trained firmly out the window. He wondered just how badly their relationship had been damaged. It seemed the boy had gone cold inside, and he wanted so much to talk to him. There wasn't going to be any time for such a talk until much later, after Bobby was convinced their family was finally safe. It seemed so much had happened in such a short time.

Jack remembered how he'd cared about his younger brother before, but there had never been any kind of real bond between them, not until it had become clear just how parallel their histories had been. There was so much that they had in common. It seemed they had managed to form some kind of connection, but now that connection felt frayed and tender; damaged under the strain of so much conflict consuming them in chaos. He didn't want to lose that feeling of having a younger brother. He didn't want to lose his younger brother.

He wished they could take the time right then and there to stop everything, stop the world and time from moving forward, and deal with the most important dilemma facing them. They didn't have the time, and they couldn't make Macks wait until they were able to stabilize the fragile teenager's emotional state of mind. Macks had to be dealt with first, and afterwards Craig could be the focus. Once the fucker was dead and gone there was nothing to stop them from facing Craig's problems head on. They would finally be able to prove to the boy that he could trust them with no boundaries. He didn't have to be worried about them turning against him, or abandoning him, and Jack was certain that was where his thoughts were leading him.

Jack had found it difficult to trust when he was younger. That was one reason why other foster homes couldn't work out for him. Most of the families he'd been placed with after his nightmare summer with Nate and Sylvia would have provided good, loving homes, but he had been taught by Nate not to trust anyone. Even the ones who looked and acted nice could turn into cruel, abusive monsters. Rather than risk the pain he had turned himself into an angry, frightened kid. It was easier that way. The only thing he'd wanted from the very start was to be taken back to his first home, the only home he'd ever known. If they had returned him after his experience with Nate, maybe things would have been different, he didn't know for sure. He didn't really think so. He had learned to hate and fear adults by then, two emotions that he hadn't experienced until then. No, if they had returned him to his first home after the Nate ordeal, he still would have been unable to trust them. He would have been waiting for them to turn on him and send him away again.

Even with Evelyn he had still nurtured those feelings, deep down. His mother and brothers had proved their love for him a thousand times over, and had been very supportive, but it didn't matter. It wasn't until after his Macks encounter that he'd come to the realization that he needed to come to terms with his the black marks on his soul and move on. In that respect his emotional journey probably could have never taken any other route, he had to go down the road he went down. Craig didn't have to go down that road. The boy's own battle against his past was going to be a long one, but they could guard against him falling into the same trap that Jack had.

The sound of a car horn blaring drew Jack out of his thoughts. He realized Bobby had pulled through a stop sign and into the path of an oncoming car. The driver of the other car braked in time to avoid the collision, but taking into account the rapid beating he was doing on the horn, he was not very happy.

Camille was already verbalizing the need for Bobby to slow down and take some care in his driving, but it sounded as if she was talking to a child. Jack decided to take over and finish her thoughts for her. "Bobby, watch what you're fucking doing!" He cried out, cutting off Camille's words.

"Yeah, what Jack just said," Camille agreed, allowing for Jack's more direct approach to take precedent over her calm, wordy attempt at getting her point across.

Bobby let out a huff and shook his head slowly, but didn't argue. That was odd, at least to Jack. He drove turned at the next corner and Jack wondered where his brother thought he was going. He waited a few minutes before deciding to question the direction they were heading. "Bobby, there are no motels this way." He commented. "Where are we going?"

"I got an idea." Bobby spoke quickly.

"What idea? You can share with the rest of us you know." Jack leaned forward in the seat.

"Johnny G.," Bobby answered. "He's got a room above the bar."

"The bar," Camille turned and looked at Bobby. "You want us to stay at a bar?"

"No, just above the bar, and Johnny will be there to watch out for both of you." Bobby glanced at Camille before looking in the mirror to check on Craig.

Jack glanced over to Craig again, and there seemed to be no reaction from him. He wasn't even sure if Craig had heard the words. He wondered about the pills Bobby had been giving to the kid. He was beginning to think that the medications were more doing more damage than good. Of course they had seemed to take care of the paranoia that had set in with the kid before. Now it was almost as if they had no affect on him. They usually made him drowsy, relaxing him and breaking him free of the tension. The tension around him was thick at that moment and felt suffocating.

"Johnny used to let me stay there when I wasn't in any shape to go home." Bobby explained how he knew about the room above the bar.

Jack looked back towards the front seat. "You mean Johnny used to let you stay there when you didn't want Mom to see what kind of shape you were in when you got home." He sat back in the seat and laughed at the idea of Bobby Mercer hiding out from his mother. "You were worried about getting busted."

Bobby let out a huff. "No, I was not worried about getting busted. I was a full grown man, and there was no issue with me drinking, Johnny was just looking out for me being out on the street in a not so sober condition, that's all."

Jack could hear the defensive tone, and knew he was right, no matter what Bobby said. It didn't take long for them to reach the bar. Bobby turned and looked at Jack. "You all wait here and let me go in and talk to Johnny with Camille." He glanced at Craig, but his focus was on Jack.

Jack didn't understand why Camille was going in with him but he didn't want his brothers to be included. "Why do you want us to wait here?" He asked, trying to understand the reasoning behind Bobby's thinking.

"I think Camille has a far more convincing way about her Jackie. Not that you can't turn on the feminine charms from time to time, but let's leave this one up to a real woman, okay?" Bobby didn't give Jack a chance to argue the gay hint that had been dropped. He got out of the car and walked around to open Camille's door for her. Jack was impressed, at least Bobby remembered how treat a lady, even if it was his brother's lady he was dealing with.

Once Jack was alone with Craig he decided to brave the dangerous territory of Craig's mood. He looked at the boy and bit at his lip. "You gonna stay pissed at me forever?" He asked.

Craig didn't look over or respond.

"You gotta talk to me sometime Craig. Look at me." Jack pushed.

Craig finally turned his head just enough that Jack was sure he was hearing the words at least.

"Remember what Mom used to say? She used to tell us that none of us ever had to tell each other anything we didn't feel comfortable sharing. Well this was one of those things that I didn't feel like sharing with you, not yet anyway." Jack could feel the wall between him and Craig building and he was afraid that he would never be able to get through to the kid completely. "Someday maybe when you're older I'll feel more comfortable telling you more." He pushed on. "Until then you are going to have to trust what I have told you so far. You're still my little brother, and I still love the hell out of you. I can't stand feeling like this Craig, come on; really look at me and not in my general direction." He couldn't drive back the hurt that he was feeling, the fear that he'd truly lost his little brother somehow.

Craig's eyes shifted to Jack, and the wet tears building seemed to reflect the daylight filtering in through the windows of the car. Jack reached for him, to try to hold onto him for a moment and close the gap, but Craig pushed him back. "Not yet." His voice was choked. "Please?" He looked as if he were begging him.

Jack's heart swelled slightly. "Okay, so long as I know we're going to be okay here." He felt his own words straining against his tight throat.

Craig nodded his head slowly, but looked back out the window.

Jack drew in a deep breath and curled his right hand into a fist. He didn't realize his hand had moved up to his mouth, or that he was chewing on the closest knuckle. At least he knew there was a chance of salvaging something with Craig, and they would be able to rebuild that bond that had been so heavily damaged. He sucked in another bottomless breath and purposely let it out slowly as silence soaked up the air surrounding them.

He looked back at Craig and studied his face. He wondered what was going through his head and what it was going to take to get him to open up again. His trust was teetering on the edge of oblivion and whatever they did, as a family to bring him back to where he'd been just the day before, it was going to take time; a lot of time and patience. Hell, Bobby didn't know the meaning of that word.

Although, he had to admit that the oldest Mercer had gone through a transformation of his own in just the past few weeks. It had happened a little at a time, a day at a time, but it had happened, and to look at Bobby now and talk to him was a complete contrast to what the experience would have been a month before. The Bobby Mercer that had shown up for his mother's funeral was nothing like the Bobby Mercer that had parked the car at the curb just minutes before. It was as if he were a whole new person and that transformation had to be credited to Craig. The boy needed a father; and Bobby, as hard headed and stubborn as he could be, needed a son to level him out. The pairing worked out well. Jack felt a smile hiding under his heart as he realized that Evelyn Mercer knew exactly what the hell she was doing when she named Bobby as Craig's guardian. Jack hadn't been so sure at the time, but now he had no doubts.

* * *

Johnny Giovanni's routine never changed, and for that Bobby was thankful. He walked in the side entrance with Camille on his heels, and there was his friend standing at the bar wiping at water spots on the shot glasses. As early as it was, Johnny was already getting shit ready for the day.

He didn't know why he hadn't thought of Johnny before; the man had helped him out quite a few times back in the day. That room above the bar had not just been a place to sleep off a good drunk, but it had been a safe haven in those few times Bobby Mercer had screwed up and his 'winging it' plans had backfired.

It had been a good arrangement back then; Bobby would keep the thugs out of the bar for Johnny while he drank himself into a stupor, and when he needed a place of sanctuary, whether it be from his mother's preaching about his drinking or some two bit thug after blood, that room was available.

Johnny looked over and his expression went from bored to expectant. He knew something was up, he had to. Bobby Mercer didn't walk into a bar at seven thirty in the morning without some kind of trouble following him. "Bobby Mercer." He called out while Bobby and Camille maneuvered around the tables and chairs between the side door and the bar.

"Johnny G." Bobby wanted to smile, but seeing as how he was about to put an old friend into the line of fire, he couldn't quite get the muscles on each side of his mouth to stretch in the right direction. He could feel the frown forming in place of the smile. "Same old Johnny, up at the crack of dawn and doin' the menial shit most employers pay people to do." He reached the bar and pulled himself onto a stool.

"You stop by to see what I do at the crack of dawn Bobby?" Johnny didn't look away from his inspection of the shot glass in his hands.

Bobby cringed inside. It had been years since him and Johnny had used their little arrangement to the benefit of both of them. Maybe Johnny wasn't all for the Good Samaritan bullshit anymore. Still he had to ask. "I got a dilemma Johnny." Bobby looked at Camille who was standing at the end of the bar.

"You got more than a dilemma Bobby, you got Adam Macks comin' up your ass, and you ain't ever been one for taking it up the ass." Johnny smiled and finally set the glass down. He looked Bobby in the eye. "I'm an old man Bobby, ain't young like I used to be. Don't know what I could do for you, but you know I'll do what I can. What do you need?"

Bobby felt relief almost instantly. "None of us are young like we used to be Johnny. I've figured that out in the past few weeks." There were some friends that would never change, and Johnny G. was one of them. He looked at Camille and pulled out the stool next to him. "Sit down sweetheart, Johnny's a good friend." He glanced at Johnny, "You know Jeremiah's wife?" He asked.

Johnny shook his head. "I don't think we've had the pleasure." He reached out a free hand towards Camille. "Johnny Giovanni." He smiled, and the tough exterior that his large frame seemed to project melted away.

Camille accepted Johnny's hand with no hesitation. Either she could see that deep down he was nothing more than a big teddy bear, or she trusted Bobby more than she ever should. "Camille." She told him quietly.

Johnny looked at Bobby while he kept an easy hold on Camille's hand. "How the hell did Jeremiah Mercer get so lucky to find something this fine?" He smiled and shook his head. "He must have a connection somewhere."

Bobby nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, he did luck out with this one. Best thing that ever happened to Jeremiah is sitting right there with her hand holding yours." He gave Camille a sideways look. He hadn't really had much of a chance to get to know his sister-in-law as well as he wanted to, but he liked what he seen in her so far. She was a great mother, and she was good to Jeremiah, the rest all fell into place. "If you tell anyone I said that I'll deny it, you got that?" He teased at her.

"Not a word." Camille smiled back at him.

Johnny leaned down and gave the back of Camille's hand a quick kiss before releasing it and returning to his shot glasses. "You got trouble Bobby." He commented.

"What have you heard?" Bobby asked.

"Word on the streets is that Jerry's warehouse blew out from under him last night. The person behind it is gunnin' for all of you." Johnny didn't look at Bobby as he spoke. He squinted slightly at the glass, trying to find spots to rub clear with the towel. "He's okay I take it?" He finally lowered the glass long enough to peer over it in Camille's direction.

"Scared, but in one piece." Camille answered.

"Angel was with him." Bobby added and couldn't resist the chance to boast a little about his own heroics. "I busted in and saved their asses. I'll tell you Johnny, a big brother's job is never done."

Johnny chuckled quietly. "Yeah, I heard how you managed to trash two different cars in the process of playing big brother." He returned to his glass and used the towel to rub at some spots on the outside rim.

"What? How the hell could you have heard anything about that?" Bobby should have known better than to ask. Johnny seemed to have eyes and ears all over. People came into his bar and talked about everything. His bar was the place to go if you wanted to hear all of the gossip. Johnny had a way of knowing shit most people didn't. At one time he was the one person Bobby talked to first if he needed information.

Johnny just smiled and looked at Bobby. "You really don't want me to go through all of the details, do you? You came in to ask for something?"

Bobby drew in a deep breath. "Just for the record, I did not trash two cars. Okay?" He felt his face trying to warm up, but decided to let it rest, for the time being. "Yeah, I came in to ask for something."

"Well I can't say yes until I know what you need Bobby." Johnny put the glass down and braced his hands on the top of the bar. "So what do you need?"

"The room upstairs, for a day or two maybe, so I can stash my baby brother in a safe place until we get some shit taken care of." Bobby kept his eyes focused on Johnny, not sure if the man would really be willing to go back in time to the way things used to be with them.

"That room's not in good shape right now. It needs some cleaning up." Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, it's dusty and it's been closed up for a while. I got some cases stored up there. You got a problem cleaning it up?"

"Since I'm the designated babysitter I guess that would be a question to ask me." Camille spoke up.

Johnny looked over at the woman and smiled. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize you'd be staying too." He spoke calmly. "I mean its fine, but it won't be too comfortable."

"I don't mind the cleaning part. It will give me something to do." Camille spoke quickly.

"There's a couch, a bed and a table and chairs. There's a T.V., but no cable. It picks up the local channels pretty good though, or at least it used to. There's a restroom and a small refrigerator. Any food you want I can get for you from the kitchen down here though, that won't be a problem. I got some clean sheets in my apartment." Johnny folded the towel and dropped it neatly on the bar.

"Where is your apartment?" Camille asked.

"It's right out back." Johnny cocked his thumb in the general direction and grinned at the surprise on Camille's face. "It's just me, no family. I'm usually in here anyway." He looked at Bobby. "You got get your little brother, and I'll go get the sheets." He nodded his head.

"I owe you big for this Johnny." Bobby started to stand.

"I got a sawed off I'll bring in too. No one will get up to that room without having to go through me." Johnny added.

Bobby could feel his nerves starting to prickle right down to the tips of his fingers. "What have you heard Johnny?"

"You got serious problems. A cop is in the hospital, the same cop that helped you out with Macks the last time. Macks has already killed one person in that explosion, and he tried to kill Green. Now he's after the Mercers. He's comin' for you all and he's planning on taking every last one of you out of the picture." Johnny's eyes moved to Camille and then back to Bobby. "Where are Jerry and Angel now?" He asked.

"They're checking out some of Macks' contacts. Trying to take out his connections so he's got no back up." Bobby answered.

"You got names then?" Johnny asked.

"Yeah, we do, some good hunches, and then there are the obvious ties from before." Bobby wasn't sure how much Johnny knew, but he thought it was best not to give him too many details, for his own safety. "I don't want you getting too wrapped up in our mess Johnny. I just need the room. I do appreciate it."

"I need to know what I'm up against. If I got people in my room, then I'm a part of what ever cockamamie scheme you got cooked up. So start talking Bobby boy." Johnny leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "I got all day to wait you out, how much time you got?"

Bobby frowned and considered the man's words. He was sure Johnny wouldn't renege on his offer of the room, but he was a hard headed son of a bitch, so he would make them sit there until he knew all the details of their plan. He pulled himself back up onto the stool and started telling him where Jerry and Angel had gone off to first thing that morning.

Johnny listened and then held his hands up. "Well then what? After you get the cop and Winston out of the way, what is your plan?" He asked.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "We're wingin' it." He admitted. "We're gonna go to Jordan's house and check it out, out, but we're gonna have to draw Macks out someplace of our choosing. We can't let him catch up to us on his terms."

Johnny nodded his head. "Well what the hell you waiting for, go get your little brother and let's get him settled into that room." He turned back to Camille. "You sure you won't mind the cleaning? I hate that you have to deal with my mess."

"I'll be fine with it. Where is the room? I can start getting the sheets stripped." Camille moved to her feet and waited while Johnny told her where the stairway was, just off the kitchen. She looked at Bobby as if she were waiting for him to approve her going on up.

Bobby nodded his head. "You go, I'll get Craig, and me and Jack will bring in the bags." He stood as well and watched Camille move behind the bar, past Johnny and through the door to the kitchen. He waited until she was out of sight before looking at his friend. "I do owe you for this. Thanks." He held his hand out.

"Bobby, you and me share a history. You know you can come to me for shit like this. Don't make such a big deal about it." Johnny took his hand and gripped it firmly. "You were always like the delinquent little brother I never had."

"Fuck you." Bobby cried out, but he grinned. He had to admit, that there were times when he'd grown wary of being the big brother and Johnny had always let him act out the little brother routines with him during those times. He felt a serious thought hit him and looked around to make sure no one else was within hearing range. "To be honest Johnny, I think you taught me how to be a big brother." He felt his words catch, and it was embarrassing, but he wanted to say it. "Now I gotta learn how to be a father. You got any tips for that one?" He wouldn't have let anyone else besides his own brothers know how scared he was with his new role in Craig's life, but Johnny was different. "Because I'm not sure if I'm doing it right."

Johnny smiled. "Just do what you do best Bobby." He spoke quietly. "Hell, don't you think you've played the father role for all of your brothers at one time or another? That's what a big brother really is you know; an extension of the parental unit?"

Bobby stared at Johnny for a moment. The words didn't make sense to him. "That's bullshit." He finally breathed out.

"Yeah, well, I made the attempt." Johnny grinned. "Go get the kid and let's get you out of here."

Bobby shook his head and headed for the same door he'd entered the bar through. He was glad he'd thought of Johnny. He hadn't realized how much he missed the man's odd sense of the world. Maybe Craig's stay here would be good for the boy. He needed something different than the overbearing big brothers he had been cooped up with.


	68. Chapter 68

You know, I never intended this story to be this long! Thanks to all who are still reading it, I appreciate it! :) Thanks for the reviews, I love them all!

Still don't own, still make no money.

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**Chapter 68: Left Behind**

Craig held his arms around his stomach tight, almost feeling sick as they waited in the car for Bobby to return. He was thankful that Jack had stopped talking, but he could still feel his brother's gaze fix on him from time to time and was sure that if Bobby didn't hurry Jack would start talking again. He'd nearly broke the first time, nearly gave into the need to feel as if someone else could keep him safe from the fears that were building in him, some of those fears he couldn't identify. As Bobby had pulled away from the house it had felt as if he was leaving the only safe shelter in his life and he wanted to go back. The further away they'd had moved away from home the harder the fears seemed to be pushing from the inside, trying to take over.

Jack's words had hit in a moment of weakness. He'd heard some kind of a need in Jack's voice that felt familiar to him, one he had almost responded to it, had wanted to latch onto it and let the familiar feel of it envelope him, no matter how angry he felt. No, he didn't want to be angry, and he didn't want to feel the loneliness that his walls of protection seemed to bring. He had been fine, been able to channel it inwards, until Jack brought up their mother.

A need to feel her presence around him seemed to overwhelm him, and some of those walls had weakened momentarily. He had nearly let Jack grab hold of him, and was willing to give into the urge to cling to the man, for just a moment. He'd been able to brace his emotions long enough with a reminder that Jack had lied to him, not just once, but over a period of time, and he had done it purposely, and he'd known his father and there was a past between them that Jack wasn't going to tell him about.

His mother's rule of privacy concerning each of their pasts had been what struck him the most. She had said that no one had to share anything that they didn't feel comfortable sharing, and Craig hadn't told his brothers anything about his past until recently, they had learned about his father in other ways, for the most part. How could he hold it against Jack for not sharing a part of his past, even it if was connected to him in some way. Craig knew deep down he couldn't blame Jack for what his father had done, and he was sue there was something, whatever it may have been. He still felt he should have been told at least something about it though, something to stabilize the faith that he'd been so willing to give up to all of his brothers. He had to be careful not to make that mistake again by surrendering to his need for some kind of comfort.

He didn't want to feel angry, but he couldn't drive that emotion back as easily as he could hold in the fear. For now he needed that anger, it drowned out the fear, and as tempting as it had been to give in to the urge to let Jack put his arms around him and hold him enough to ease the pain a little, he couldn't give into it, not yet, he couldn't face handing that much of himself back over to Jack. He couldn't hand that much of himself over to any of his brothers; he wasn't sure when he'd be able to, but not yet, not now.

He felt relief when Bobby came back to the car and opened the passenger's door. Jack climbed out ahead of him and Craig followed slowly. He didn't want to be away from home, and even though Johnny had been one of Bobby's friends, to Craig he was nothing more than a bartender who had served him a couple of sodas and some food one night. He stood at the back end of the car and watched as Bobby and Jack retrieved the duffel bag full of his things along with the paper bag Camille had packed with some of Sofi's borrowed clothes and bathroom essentials. He had to resist the urge not to stiffen up when Bobby stepped up to him with Camille's sack tucked into one arm. The man slid his free arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to him in the same manner he'd become accustomed to.

"It's gonna be fine Craig. Johnny knows what's going down, and he's gonna be prepared for anything, okay?" Bobby gave him a slight pull towards the building, walking him casually. "Camille's gonna clean the room up real good. You can help her with that if you want to, or you can lie down and catch a quick nap. You're getting used to those morning naps, I'll bet you're tired."

Craig wasn't tired. His insides felt wired and he felt jumpy. The pills had been the reasons for his naps, and he hadn't taken the pills since he'd eaten lunch the day before. He couldn't very well tell Bobby that he wasn't tired, but he didn't want to lie down. He wanted to move around, preferably take a walk, a very long walk. One that would move him away from all the crap he could feel weighing him down, and that included his brothers as well.

Bobby pulled the door open and walked inside with Craig still close to him. He guided him across the floor and behind the bar. The kitchen was neat and clean, and quiet. Bobby pulled another door opened at the end of the kitchen and Craig found himself at the bottom of an ancient wood stair case with a rod iron rail running up a green painted wall. "You go on, I'm gonna wait for Johnny." Bobby let him go and turned to Jack who was squeezing in through the doorway past him. "You can go up with him." He pushed Camille's bag into Jack's free arm. "Keep an eye on him." The last order was spoken quietly but Craig could still hear it. He walked up the stairs leaving both of his brothers behind him.

"I think 'him' heard you." Jack spoke gruffly. "You shouldn't say shit like that, like he's not there."

"I didn't mean it like that." Bobby's voice came out defensive but still quiet. "Jesus, why does the easy shit always have to end up so fucking difficult?"

Craig could hear Jack's boots hitting the hard wood as he ascended the steps behind him. "Because we're Mercers Bobby, kind of goes with the name, or haven't you noticed that by now?" Jack breathed the words out in a bored tone.

Craig stopped at the top of the stairs, which emptied out into the room. Camille was pulling the sheets off of the bed, just to his left; she looked over and smiled at him just as Jack came up behind him. "Johnny was worried that it would need cleaned, but it's not too bad, really." She pointed to the couch on the opposite wall, just below a large window. "You can put the bags there Jack. Craig, honey, you can take off your coat and hang in the bed post." She looked at Craig.

Craig hesitated as the instructions sunk in slow. He finally stepped out of Jack's way and pulled off his coat. He was surprised the room was as large as it was. He scanned it, starting on his right and moving around to the left.

The wallpaper, which had once been a brighter shade of white, was yellowed with age with worn images of large red roses that ran up faded brown gazebos from floor to ceiling, the pattern was printed repeatedly around the room. His mind flickered with the familiar idea that all wallpaper was printed with flowers of some sort. The wood trim had been painted a lime green, but years of wear had introduced nicks and scratches in different sections, exposing the dark wood underneath, more so around the closed door to his right, a door that he hoped led to a restroom, since his nerves were playing games with his bladder at the moment.

An older floor model television rested against the wall, on the dark green carpet, facing the room. Dusty rabbit ears rested on the top of stained and tattered wood casing, the right antenna was bent slightly close to the top. Craig doubted they would be able to watch much television.

The couch, with its green and blue plaid design thinning in the middle of the cushions, rested on the next wall, with the window above it; the pale green curtains hanging there were thin and wouldn't hold out much light, but no one would be able to see past them from the outside. A wobbly looking end table rested at the end of the couch, holding a lamp that was missing the shade.

An old white refrigerator, no taller than Craig faced him from the same wall the couch was against, and then another window with a small table and three chairs sitting under it. The curtains in the second window were white with blue and yellow flowers trimming them out. They looked a little newer than the set in the other window. His scan brought him to the bed again, sitting on the wall opposite of the table and chairs, the same wall the stairs emptied out to, with only a small dresser separating the bed from the door.

He felt his breath shudder as he drew it in and stepped over to the bed. He hung his coat on the post at the foot of the bed and looked back to the stairs. He was thankful to see that there was a door on the entrance of the room. He hadn't noticed it before because it was open all the way, resting against the wall. He turned to look at the closed door that he'd noticed before. "Is that the rest room?" He asked quietly.

"Yes, it is. It's not too bad. I need to clean in there, but if you need to use it before I get to that, it should be safe." Camille dropped the sheets onto the floor. "There's some soap in my bag." She informed him.

Craig walked to the couch, where Jack had deposited both the paper sack and the duffel bag. He found the new bar of soap and walked to the door. He pulled it open slowly and stepped in. He studied the small room while he pushed the door closed behind him. The walls had been plain white at some point in time, but now they were marked with dark smudges. The sink was small and stained ugly with rust. The bowl of the commode wasn't in much better condition, but the seat appeared clean at least. There was no tub, just a shower stall.

A small window on the wall next to the shower offered light, but there were no curtains. He stepped over to look out, and found the roof of the bar nearly ten feet below. A person would have a hard time climbing up to the window, but it wasn't too far to drop down to the roof if the need presented itself.

He turned back to the sink and set the soap, still wrapped securely in its package on the edge of the porcelain. That was when he noticed the small mirror hanging above the sink, with a florescent light fixture mounted above it. He found the switch on the light and tested it. After a few questionable flickers and a loud hum the light finally came on. The intensity of it dimmed a few times, but finally it seemed to take hold.

He tried to imagine Bobby staying in this space. His mind couldn't picture it. It reminded him of some of the shabby little apartments that his parents had taken refuge in when he was small. Dirty, and old, and uncomfortable were the only words to describe it.

He didn't want to stay there. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be close to Bobby, no matter how hard he fought down that yearning it was there. He knew that it wouldn't do him any good to voice his desires. It hadn't done any good before, when Bobby had taken him and Jack to Sofi's mother's apartment, and it wouldn't matter to his brother now what he did or didn't want. He had no choice, and he was tired of not having a choice.

He'd been with his brothers when they went looking for their mother's killers. He'd been right in the middle of it all. He'd been on the street with Angel, running from the car full of teenagers shooting at them. He'd been there, in the middle of all hell breaking lose less than twenty four hours ago, and he'd done what he'd been told. He'd done everything they had ever told him to do through all of it, and still, when things got hard, Bobby got rid of him, abandoned him without caring what might happen to him while they were gone. He felt angry and hurt and left behind.

"Stop it." He whispered to his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. His mind seemed to obey almost immediately and pushed the emotions down into the pit of his stomach. He couldn't allow himself to feel anything at that moment; it was too hard to deal with.

The need to empty his bladder overtook the thoughts in his mind, and he quickly did what he'd entered the room to do. He flushed the toilet after he'd fastened his jeans back, and then opened the soap so that he could wash his hands. He reached to turn on the hot water and realized he didn't have anything to dry his hands. He remembered using his jeans at the warehouse the day before. He decided he didn't feel like using his jeans for a towel, and passed on the hand washing.

The sound of Bobby's voice in the next room drew him closer to the door. He stood there, staring at the door and listening to Bobby talking quietly with Camille and Jack. Another voice joined in after a moment, and Craig thought it might be Johnny. He drew in a deep breath and opened the door, stepping into the room and leaving the privacy of the restroom behind him. He walked over to the couch and sat down next to the duffel bag. He turned sideways on the couch to look out the window. He could see Bobby's car below, sitting along the curb.

"You got Jack's cell phone number; you call us if you need to." Bobby was speaking to Camille. "We'll call and check in as much as we can."

"Don't worry, we'll call a lot." Jack added.

Bobby walked over to stand in front of Craig. "You can help Camille?" He picked up the duffel bag and moved it to rest on top of the television so that he could sit down on the couch.

Craig didn't look at Bobby; he let his eyes study some imperfections in the glass window. "Sure." He muttered, but his voice came out with a slight tremble.

"It's gonna be okay Craig." Bobby reached out to rest a hand on his leg.

Craig quickly pulled his leg back, letting his body turn to face the room; he allowed his feet to plant on the floor in front of him and avoided looking at Bobby. "I know." He lied quickly.

"Look at me." Bobby slid a little closer to him.

Craig turned his head and looked at Bobby, but he tried not to actually see him.

"You know I love you, right?" Bobby looked concerned.

"Sure." Craig turned away again, letting his eyes drift down to the floor under his feet.

"Craig, look at me." Bobby moved even closer, his voice a little more firm.

Craig didn't move this time. "You have to go, don't you?" He asked quietly.

Bobby was quiet, except for a loud sigh. "You remember Johnny?" He pointed to the man standing at the bed, next to Camille.

Craig looked up at Johnny. "Hi." He managed to say the word, though it came out sounding forced.

"Hi." Johnny smiled at him.

"Johnny is gonna take good care of both you and Camille. I wouldn't trust anyone else right now. You show him some respect, and you do whatever he tells you to do." Bobby took a hold of Craig's arm and turned him back to face him. "You eat any food he brings up here for you, and you do what you're told." Bobby swallowed hard. "We'll be back to pick you up as soon as we can. I love you, okay?" His voice was quiet.

Craig stared at him, and wished that he would just go, before the temptation to beg him not to leave him grew any stronger.

Bobby pulled him closer and kissed him on the forehead. He looked at him as if he was waiting for some kind of response, but Craig bit on the inside of his mouth, holding in the urge to grab hold of his brother and start bawling. He felt a shadow growing inside of him, and his thoughts were struggling to fall on the 'what ifs'. What if Bobby didn't come back? What if his father killed all of his brothers and came after him? What if they killed his father and when they came back Bobby decided he didn't want him after all? He was going to end up alone again, with no one, and he wasn't going to have any choice in the matter. He had no right to expect his adopted brothers to really care, no matter how much he wanted it. The anger at the idea of being left behind again was now taking a hold on him. It seemed his emotions ran from one extreme to another, continuously changing on him at the slightest nudge when he least expected it.

Bobby seemed to give up on hearing a response from the teen, and let go of him. He hesitated for a long beat before he stood and stepped over to Johnny. "I'll call." He shook hands with his friend. "This means a lot to me Johnny, I don't have to tell you. I wouldn't leave my family with anyone I didn't trust, you know that." He spoke quietly, but Craig could hear him.

The words seemed to strike at an already tender spot inside of him, the weak spot that was trying desperately to push its way out. His mind fell onto the idea that he might never see any of his brothers again. A fear that had been festering since long before his mother died, the fear of never belonging, seemed to erupt inside of him as he realized that chance might be lost if he didn't respond to his brother's words in some way. "Bobby." He stood quickly and hurried to Bobby who had turned at the sound of his name, he wrapping his arms around his neck and held on. "I love you too." He barely got the words past the tears choking at his throat.

Bobby's arms came around him and squeezed him hard, as if he'd wanted this and had been waiting for it. "I know you do kid. Don't worry, I'm going to fix everything and we won't have to deal with this shit anymore." He spoke quietly in Craig's ears and the boy tightened his hold on him. He almost asked Bobby to take him with him, he nearly gave into the temptation to beg him not to leave him like he did before, but he knew, just as before, that Bobby wouldn't give in.

Bobby's statement about how he could let him know when he didn't like what was expected of him, but he couldn't argue about it, ran through his memory. He thought that maybe he understood what Bobby had meant, at least in that split second. He couldn't beg him to stay. He couldn't ask to go with him. He wanted to hold onto him and refuse to let go, but he couldn't do that either. He could only let him go.

"You need to help Camille, right?" Bobby spoke quickly, his voice sounding a little more husky than normal. "You do what she tells you to."

Craig nodded his head and felt Bobby loosen his hold on him. He knew it was a signal that it was time to let him go, but he couldn't, not yet. "You're coming back?" Craig asked the question with his eyes squeezed closed.

"You better believe I am. Nothing is gonna stop me from coming back." Bobby gave his back a gentle pat and then pulled away, forcing the boy to let go of him.

Craig opened his eyes and looked up at Bobby. He nodded his head slowly and swallowed back at the tears that were trying to surface. He felt another hand rest on his shoulder and didn't have to look up to know that Jack had come up behind him. Johnny and Camille were standing behind Bobby, so it was a pretty simple deduction. He didn't look up into Jack's face, but he couldn't stop himself from turning towards him and allowing his arms to go around him.

He couldn't believe he could feel so pissed at someone, and still not want them to leave, but that's how he felt. He wanted Jack to stay just as badly as he wanted Bobby to stay. He wanted to be able to go home with them and continue being pissed. Somehow the idea that neither one would return seemed to cancel out the self imposed numbness and caused even more conflict inside of him.

He held onto Jack and allowed him to hug back. It was a brief hug, one that felt rushed, but Bobby started talking about how they needed to go. "My little brothers can have their make-up hug later." Bobby's voice came out tight, but Craig could feel a promise behind the words. If Bobby was that sure they would have a chance to work out the problems that had seemed to have buried them, then he did intend to come back for him. The question was what was going to happen when he did come back? What would happen after that?

Jack let go of him and looked down at him and smiled faintly. "We're gonna have a real good talk later, I promise." He reached out and mussed Craig's hair before turning and following Bobby down the stairs.

Johnny followed the Mercer men, and pulled the door closed after him. Craig stood there in the middle of the floor and stared at the door. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, he knew his brothers weren't going to come back through that door, not now. He felt Camille step up to him and slide an arm around him. "You want to help me make the bed?" She asked quietly.

Craig turned without answering her and moved to the couch. He rested his knees on the middle cushion and pulled the curtains back from the window. He waited until Bobby and Jack walked to the car. He watched as Bobby turned and looked up at the window. The man pulled the car door open and his eyes hung in the boy's direction for a long moment before he got in behind the wheel. Jack didn't look up until he was in the car and the door was closed, but he did look, just as the car pulled away.

The boy felt a knife stabbing at his gut, but he tried to ignore it. He got up and went to the bed to help Camille, wondering when, or if he'd see his brothers again.


	69. Chapter 69

Let me know what you think and thanks to all for reading! :)

Still don't own, still make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 69: Higgins**

Jeff Jones watched as Adam Macks locked the closet door behind Jordan. He didn't like the way Macks was treating Jordan, it was sickening him. He did his best to push outward and take control of their actions, but Macks was holding his ground. Jones tried to reason with him that if they were going out of the house he was the best person to be dealing with people and he should let him take over. Macks didn't give a fuck; he wanted to remain in charge. Jones could feel that Macks was close to cutting their ties and killing him off completely. He had no choice but to ease off and let Macks have his way, at least for the time being. He might be able to worm his way out once Macks was out around other people, at least he hoped for it. Macks was his weakest when he was trying to deal with others. Right now the man was thinking of ways to inflict pain on the Mercers, so much so that he seemed obsessed with the whole thing. That obsession was taking up a good bit of his thoughts, so Jones just had to bide his time and he could take over in one of Macks' weaker moments. He had to be careful though, not to let Macks know what he was thinking most of the time, any hint to his ideas would mean the end of him.

Macks found his coat, his good coat, the new one that made him look sharp. It made feel important when he looked good, even if it was Jones' face on the outside. He could keep the face and get rid of Jones; that was what he was planning, in the end, getting rid of the voice of reason that seemed to nag at him every time he tried to make a decision. He found some car keys hanging on a hook in the kitchen and decided to check out the garage attached to the side of the house. He was sure the van was in police hands. It would be considered evidence. Of course it wasn't as if Jordan was going to be driving himself too many places, so it was possible that the keys he found belonged to the man's estranged wife. Hell, poor guy had no one. No one had called, to Macks' knowledge. No one seemed to care about him, except for Adam Macks and his extent of caring only went as far as what he could use the gutless shit for. Jeff Jones seemed to give a fuck about how he was treated, but there was really no reason to play too many games with the man. He was going to die in the end, whether Jones liked it or not.

Jones was relieved to find a small Toyota parked in the garage, though it didn't look as if it could go far. He didn't feel like walking, and the idea of taking a bus was not appealing. He was feeling the effects of Macks' heavy drinking the night before, even if Macks was too consumed with other things to take notice of it.

Macks opened the large garage door and was ready to get into the car to drive away when Jones spoke to him quietly. "Don't you think you should do something about the tags?" He asked him as calmly and non threatening as he could, but he could feel Macks' rage rising as soon as the words were out.

"Shut the fuck up." Macks turned back to the car and looked at the license plates. "Okay, we'll take them off." He muttered as he turned to look around for some kind of a tool chest. The garage was neat and tidy, with some used kitchen cabinets and countertop lining one wall to the side, but there was no sign of tools. What kind of a man didn't keep tools in his garage? He was about to give up when he noticed a small tool box tucked into the corner, near the door leading into the kitchen. He walked to it quickly and pulled it out, setting it on top of the counter to open it up. He found a small hammer and a plastic box with nails. The screwdriver rested in the corner of the box, and looked as if it had never been used. He didn't bother to put the box back where he found it. Who was going to give a damn about the toolbox being left out? It wasn't as if Jordan was ever going to know.

Minutes later he had the tags off the car. He left them laying on the cement floor and got into the driver's seat. He put the key into the ignition and turned it. The starter ground out a horrible noise and he was sure the piece of shit car wasn't going to fire up. To his surprise the engine caught and sputtered for a moment, but finally took hold. It ran rough, but it ran. He put the car in reverse and back out the door carefully. He needed to find Higgins first, and then he would try Dearth. He did have a backup if he needed it, but he didn't trust his back up as much as he would like. He had no problem dragging someone else into his game, and this particular person did seem anxious to please him before.

Jones scowled at the idea. "You can't call him, you need to leave him alone and forget you ever messed with him to start with."

"I'll do what I damn well have to." Macks hissed back. "You just shut up and let me deal with this shit. You've already screwed too many things up."

Jones couldn't help but laugh. "You damn fool, I wasn't the one who fucked up and lost a car."

Macks growled but didn't give Jones the satisfaction of a response. Let the fool keep mouthing off and sooner or later he'd get tired of it and take care of his ass once and for all.

* * *

Angel stood when Higgins' phone rang a second time. Hell, Macks was persistent. He looked at Higgins and shook his head. "He ain't gonna leave you be; you know that, don't you? You're a dead man. He'll use you for all he can and then kill you before he takes the chance of you rattin' him out. You think about it, he's trying to make contact with you, and you ain't answering. What do you think is going through his mind right now? He's gonna think you talked, whether you talk or not." He smiled at the man.

Higgins looked nervous. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." He muttered.

"The hell you don't." Angel kept control, and sounded calm as he spoke. "You are his eyes and his ears. You are the reason he's still around. If he can't get a hold of you he's going to start thinking the worst shit he can think of. Don't you get that? You have kept him alive. You could have been free of him but you helped him get back here and you're helping him with whatever sick scheme he has cooked up. You think he's gonna pay you off with big money? He ain't a big time gangster like Sweet was. He ain't got the funds to keep paying you. His need for you is going to end and he'll fuck you over, don't you get that?" He shook his head.

Higgins seemed to crack a little. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about." He fidgeted in his seat.

"You are protecting the very man that will come back and kill you." Angel moved to stand in front of Higgins. "You helped him last night, didn't you? You helped him set the explosives that took out that warehouse and you were planning on helping him come after us again."

"I did not help him last night; I went to pick him up because he owed me money." Higgins cried out, apparently Angel's hovering was all that was needed to put that last little bit of pressure on his nerves. "I was not there for the fireworks. I sat right here and watched it all on the news."

Angel felt satisfaction, the dirty cop had admitted to the connection he had with Macks and they had it all on the recorder tucked safely in Sofi's pocket. "Where is he stayin'?" He decided to push for as much information as he could.

"I don't know where he's staying; he hasn't shared that bit of information with me." Higgins looked defeated.

"You just said you picked him up last night after he nearly took out my entire fucking family, now you had to take him some place." Angel backed off and returning to his seat on the table.

"He didn't have me take him to his front door step you fuckin' idiot." Higgins nearly hissed the words. Apparently he felt more in control without the larger, younger man looming over him. "He won't tell me where he's staying, probably some cheap motel somewhere; that would be my guess."

"Where did you drop him off?" Angel asked quickly.

"I don't remember, on some corner." Higgins sounded pissed.

"At some corner, what corner? I sure as hell would remember what corner I dropped a dead man off at." Angel spoke a little louder than he intended, the sarcasm seeping out with the words. He wanted to knock the shit out of this bitter old man. He couldn't believe a person could be so fucking pissed at the world that he could lose touch with right and wrong. Even at his worst, Angel himself used some kind of a self imposed standard. He had never gone after innocent targets to work his con games. He had kept a focus on the assholes who liked to rake in the big money at the expense of the underdog. Sure, what he did was illegal, but he never felt it was wrong.

"I didn't pay that much attention. He gave me some money; I didn't really care where the hell I let him out of the car." Higgins spoke forcefully.

"I want to know how involved you've been with this fucker, and I want to know now. How does a cop, supposedly a good cop at one time, get his ass involved with someone like Adam Macks? He's nothing but a sick son of a bitch out for blood and you have been helping him draw that blood. How do you live with yourself?" Angel couldn't hold in the disdain he felt at that moment.

Higgins laughed and it sounded sickly. "You ever had everything that meant anything to you ripped out from under you? All you got to show for your efforts in the end is this." He motioned around the tiny room filled with out of place clutter, "A fucking one bedroom cardboard box and nothing more." He started on a long sob story about how he'd worked all his life to provide for a wife who was never happy with anything he did.

When Mrs. Higgins left she took all he had, his home, his car, his life, and then sucked him dry of what little money he had managed to save up over the years. No, she didn't take half of anything; she took it all; supposed payment for living with an abusive drunken cop for so many years. He had problems, and he'd gotten help, but it didn't matter, when she left she still dredged up a past that had been dead and buried for years.

His story was like so many others in life that Angel was sure he'd heard it a thousand times over already, but he got the impression no one had ever listened to the man telling it before, and while Angel still wanted to strangle the man, he couldn't shake the feeling that things seemed unfair all over. I wasn't a pattern that stayed on one side of the tracks, or in the poor neighborhoods. At one time Higgins had a wife and a nice house, and here he was, sitting in a dump he despised.

Angel listened to the man groan on about his shitty life. His retirement was cut, and what little was due him would go to his ex. He had no future once he retired. He had worked his entire life for what was right and now he was moaning about how it had made no difference. He'd been screwed and he no longer had much faith in anything other than his self. He was hurting for money, and he'd seen men that he worked with on a daily basis falling under Victor Sweet's influence, pulling in big bucks on the side, setting them up for a comfortable future. He just wanted something for his future, according to him.

For whatever reason Sweet didn't like him, didn't want him working for him. Some of the other officers on Sweet's payroll didn't trust him. He'd been a straight up cop for years, and they didn't believe he'd be willing to do such a drastic turn.

Higgins had met up with Macks one night during the investigation of a stabbing. He was a detective then, and he had followed some leads back to Adam Macks who was well known for his temper and his other odd ways. He knew Macks dealt drugs, and worked for Sweet from time to time. Apparently Macks had heard of him as well, striking a deal with him to get the heat off of him. Higgins had accepted the payment and had covered any trails that led back to Macks being the guilty party.

He didn't think it was such a big deal at the time. Macks had stabbed a known drug dealer over some dispute about money. It was a drug dealer, it got him off the streets at least for a while, it wasn't as if he'd died, and Higgins had needed the money. He was about to lose his tiny cardboard box that he despised so fucking much, and the money got his bills caught up with a little left to put in the bank. It was the beginning of the partnership between him and Macks, and it was a profitable partnership.

Higgins managed to get some money saved up and claimed he was planning on cutting his ties to Macks at some point, but then his ex-wife decided to sue him for some stupid shit, believing that she still deserved half of whatever was in his bank account. How she ever found out about his money he would never know. He'd been planning on breaking free of Macks at some point; he just needed to get some money saved up. He needed to get something to fall back on when he needed it.

As the man spoke his voice seemed to fill with anger and resentment. The man didn't seem to have a pleasant bone in his body. Angel shook his head and his eyes narrowed down on him. "You self centered son of a bitch. You helped the sick fuck screw around with my family. He stole my brother and ran with him. You helped him with that." Angel's teeth ground hard as he spoke. "You realize what you helped him do?"

"I did not help with that." Higgins insisted. "I was not there for that."

"You gave him information. You told him what the hell was going on back here while he was on the road with a fourteen year old kid, planning on doing all sorts of sick shit to him. You gave him a way out of it all. He's fourteen years old, he ain't no fucking drug dealer, you can't justify doing that to him." Angel stood and resisted the urge to pull out his gun and start shooting. He studied Higgins' wrinkled uniform pants and stained t-shirt, the man had obviously slept in his clothes. He wondered if he had been in his uniform when he picked Macks up the night before. That would explain how the man managed to leave the scene without as much as a trail. He'd gotten a ride out of the neighborhood with a cop. It was time for that cop to pay some dues. "Get your shoes on. We're going for a ride, and you're driving." He spoke quietly, and deceptively calm.

"What?" Higgins looked confused.

Angel looked at Sofi and gave her a slight nod.

She returned the gesture and he as sure her hand in her pocket moved slightly, turning off the recorder.

"I said get your shoes on. You are going to show me what corner you dropped the fucker off at last night." He turned back to Higgins. "Then we are going to give an old friend a call and you are going to confess your sins to a fellow officer." He gave Higgins a small smile.

"Fuck you." Higgins rose quickly to his feet, ready to say something more.

Angel pulled out his gun and held it up in Higgins' line of sight. "Don't give me a reason. You don't know how bad I want a reason."

Higgins' gaze fell on the gun and he went silent.

"Now get your shoes on, or you can go out in the freezing cold in your bare feet. It's up to you." Angel grinned.

* * *

Macks pulled the car up close to the curb across the street and two houses up from Higgins and let the engine idle as he studied the small house for a long moment. He could see the man's car sitting on the street in front of the house. He wondered why the ass hole hadn't answered his phone.

He picked up the disposable phone and started to dial the number his memory held while his eyes focused on the front of the house. The front door opened and Higgins stepped out. Macks stopped dialing and was about to exit the car and head towards Higgins, but he froze at the sight of Angel Mercer and some woman emerging from the house behind the man that had been his main source of information.

His gut started burning with pure furry, and his mind reeled with his thoughts out of control. He could picture himself walking up to the threesome and shooting them, right there, on the street. The pictures flashed in front of his eyes so clear. He reached for the handle of the door and was about to make his mental images a reality.

"You would be making the biggest mistake of your life." Jones spoke to him in a loud voice. "You need to follow them and find out where they are going. You can't risk losing Higgins to a fucking fit of rage."

"Higgins has talked to a Mercer. He's turned on me, just like everyone turns on me." Macks growled the words.

"You don't know that. Mercer probably had a gun. He's forcing Higgins to go with him. You don't know that Higgins has told him you stupid shit." Jones reasoned. "Your best move would be to follow them."

"Follow them." Macks nodded his head. "Okay, we'll follow them. But I am going to fucking kill them all before this is over with." Macks watched Higgins get in behind the wheel of the car. Angel Mercer got in on the passenger's side and the woman climbed into the back seat. He watched as the car's exhaust signaled that it had been started and leaned down in the seat at the vehicle passed them. He was up high enough to see the car pass him and as soon as it had he sat up and slammed the gear shift into drive. He did a U-turn in the street and followed, his mind thinking of all the ways he was going to make them all pay. No one fucked over Adam Macks and lived to tell about it. That was something Higgins was going to learn one way or another.


	70. Chapter 70

Let me know what you think, and thanks to all for reading! Special thanks for those of you that review, it means a lot!

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 70: Jeremiah's Decision**

Jeremiah stared at his phone as he sat in his car. Seventeen voicemails waited for his attention. He scanned down through them, not believing that Green had tried so many times to reach him. He was surprised to see another number listed that looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place. He dialed his voicemail and punched in his code to listen. He was surprised by the sound of Jessup Winston's voice, and the warning that he was issuing. The man sounded scared and desperate, at least to him. The sound of his voice, and the emotion it held tore at Jeremiah, who could only sigh with a realization that his hunch as to the identity of the dead body at the warehouse seemed to be confirmed. He made sure to save the haunting voice on his phone; it would be something to give to the police. He was sure anything they could give them that pointed the finger at Macks was to the Mercers' benefit.

Jeremiah closed up his phone for the moment and absorbed the impact of hearing Winston's message from the day before. He looked up at the building looming in front of him. Winston's apartment balcony window was visible on the top floor, and Jeremiah thought for a moment that he could see the man's form standing there, looking at him. He had to shake the imaginary vision from his brain and get a grip on his senses. His hand made the move of flipping his phone open and hitting the speed dial number he needed with little thought, while he still stared at the window.

"Yeah," Jack's voice over the phone brought Jeremiah out of his daze. It took him a second to collect his thoughts and tear his eyes away from the window.

"Jack; it's Jerry." He spoke quietly.

"Yeah, Jerr' I kind of figured that one out when your name came up on my phone." Jack managed what sounded like a forced laugh.

Jerry ignored the dry comment. "I think I know who got their ass charbroiled in the fire last night." He kept his voice solemn.

"Who do you think it was?" Jack questioned quickly.

"Winston. Man, his apartment is empty and it didn't look as if he'd been there all night. I just listened to a voice mail on my phone from him too, and it sounds like Macks might have used Winston, made him help with the whole thing and then killed him." Jerry informed.

"What makes you think Macks made him help? He might have been working with the ass hole all along and…." Jack's voice was cut off in mid statement, and the sound of the phone banging hard against something nearly deafened Jeremiah. "Damn it Bobby, I was talking to him." Jack's voice sounded out from a distance on the other end.

"Let me talk to him, I need to know what the fuck he found out." Bobby's voice was loud and clear, though it too had the echo of distance surrounding it.

"He was talking to me. It is my phone you know." Jack's voice seemed to fade a little more. "You need to get your own phone!"

"Jerry, what the fuck did you find out?" Bobby finally spoke directly into the phone with his voice at a level that Jeremiah had to pull his own phone a few inches back.

"Damn Bobby, you don't have to yell at me, I ain't deaf, at least not yet." Jeremiah cried out.

"Quit your whining, and tell me what you found out from Winston." Bobby spat over the phone, but the volume was lower this time.

Jeremiah repeated the same words he'd just spoken to Jack, and then listened to the silence on the other end of the line. "Bobby?" He finally spoke after a long moment, "You still there?"

"We need to hear from Angel and be sure Higgins is out of the picture before we make a move on Jordan." Bobby spoke quickly. "For all we know Macks is at Jordan's place. We know he ain't with Winston, right?" He asked quickly.

"Well, I don't know, supposedly both of them are dead." Jack's voice was barely audible over the phone, but Jeremiah heard it.

"Now that's just wrong." Jerry spoke quietly. "Winston tried to warn us. He was scared man; you could hear it in his voice. You tell Jackie that was not funny." He drew in a deep breath, remembering the lead he'd picked up in Winston's apartment. "I got a name of the person I think supplied the explosives too. Some dude by the name of Patrick Dennis. I want to check that out." He added quickly.

"Hey Jack, Jerry heard your wisecrack and he thinks you are fucking hilarious." Bobby spoke with a tense tone and then paused a moment before returning to his conversation with Jeremiah. "Okay, we are gonna check in with Dearth and see if he's heard anything from this ass hole. You check in with Green? Maybe he's got something new, and I'm sure he'll want to know about Winston."

"Right, I'll give him a call." Jeremiah nodded his head, though he knew Bobby wouldn't be able to see the action. "But I want to check out this name. It might help us out."

"No, you go and see Green. I don't want you walking into a situation you aren't ready for, not by yourself. We wait until we hear from Angel before we decide if we need to check out this other name. I want you to go visit Green, just like I fuckin' told you to. He's gonna tell you more to your face than he will over the phone." Bobby countered. He hesitated again, and his voice lowered, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear him speak. "And you tell him I said I expected him to be up and about for a good game soon. I'm ready to kick his ass on the ice." Bobby purposely cleared his throat before speaking in a normal voice. "I found a place for Camille and Craig to lay low for a while. Johnny G. had no problem with them staying in the room above his bar." He informed.

"Johnny's bar," Jeremiah was surprised to hear that his wife had gone for that idea, but it did make him feel better, knowing that Johnny was around to watch out for her and Craig. He could remember many a night hiding out in that room.

Usually his need for hiding was a result of one of Bobby's screwed up plans for making some quick money, but there had been the rare occasion of his mother waiting at home and not wanting to disappoint her by stumbling through the door in a 'Bobby Mercer' state of drunkenness. Hell, he had to admit he'd been worried about what Evelyn would do to him if he showed up at home reeking of booze. It hadn't happened often, since Johnny had been the one to lecture him the morning after, and as ironic as it sounded, Bobby had a few things to say about Jeremiah picking up his bad habits. Jerry had to smile at the memory of a hung over Bobby telling him he was supposed to be the smart one, the one with some common sense, and should know better than to try and act like Bobby Mercer.

"Yeah, I wish I'd thought of Johnny sooner." Bobby spoke normally. "They're gonna be fine. Now you get your ass over to the hospital and find out what you can from Green. He might know some shit this morning. Call back when you get there." Bobby ended the call abruptly, not giving Jeremiah the opportunity to argue about tracking down the name he'd found in Winston's apartment.

Jeremiah drew in a deep breath and glanced back up at the window of Winston's apartment. He wondered if the man had any family, and his heart tightened slightly. He would have been ready to kill the son of a bitch if he'd found out he had anything to do with Macks' plan, but it was different now. He was dead, and he'd gotten himself killed for no fucking reason. All that it would have taken to change Jessup Winston's fate was for Jeremiah Mercer to have answered that phone call.

He knew Jessup had made the wrong decisions long before he'd ever met up with the man, and it wasn't as if he had been his favorite person, the man had tried to weasel his way into his project. But he had tried to warn them, and that had to say something about the man's character. Even Green said he had never really been involved with the dirty shit, just some easy money making schemes. Winston had to have had some sense of right and wrong about him, he did try to do the right thing in the end.

Macks was planning on leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Winston was the first, but the Mercers were next in line and they had to stop him, soon. This was a more than a hunt for a sick fucker; this was a fight for their lives. Jeremiah had known that after the shit that had gone down the night before, but knowing that Winston was dead seemed to drive the point home; their time was running short.

Where would Macks draw the line? Would he kill them all and then go after his daughters? Were his little girls in danger? It was bad enough that Craig was so young and had to endure the torture that bastard had inflicted on him, or that he had to go through the hell he was going through now. Jeremiah's babies had never been exposed to anything more difficult than the death of their Grandma Evie, and even that was beyond their comprehension. What would he do if Macks decided to up the stakes and involve his babies? Jeremiah Mercer couldn't chance that, not in a million years. He was going to make sure the man was not an issue that any of them would have to deal with later. He couldn't take the chance of anyone else he loved getting hurt.

He pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. He may not have had the magic tough that Angel had been blessed with as far as playing at words, but he damn sure had a reason to give it a try. A voice in the back of his head screamed at him not to go visit this guy, Patrick Dennis, without some kind of back up, and the voice sounded a hell of a lot like Bobby. "Damn it Bobby, shut the fuck up and let me make some of my own decisions." Jeremiah muttered as he studied the name on the paper. "I did just fine the entire time you was out of town, so don't go giving me orders like I was a damn idiot." He started the car and pulled on his seat belt before checking that he was clear to pull out onto the street.

The serious tone of Bobby's voice still struck at his conscious as he drove towards his own home. He would get on the internet in his home office and look up the name and find out how this guy was connected to demolitions. Maybe he worked for Winston, and maybe he'd been employed by one of his companies. He would track him down somehow.

He held his phone up and started dialing Green's number, hoping he had his cell with him at the hospital. He could share the information with him, and maybe he'd be able to track the name down somehow, that might save him a little time. When he was finished talking to Green he could call Angel and let him know his plans. There was no way he was going to share it with Bobby, not until he'd found something out. Hell, for all he knew it would be a dead lead, but his instincts were telling him differently, he couldn't let it go.

* * *

Angel rode next to Higgins, holding the gun in his pocket. He didn't need it out in plain sight, Higgins knew he had it and knew the threat was there; that was all that was needed for the man to cooperate right now. He wasn't surprised to see snowflakes starting to dot the windshield as Higgins drove through the streets of Detroit.

He wasn't sure if knowing what corner he'd dropped Macks off at would really help them out, probably not, but it gave his Bobby and Jack a chance to find a place for Camille and Craig, and Jerry would have some time to question Jessup Winston. He wondered though, how it was he got the dirty cop in the shitty house and Jerry was got to deal with the millionaire in the penthouse apartment. It seemed wrong somehow.

He turned in the seat and looked at Sofi, who had slid a pile of empty fast food sacks and soda cans across the seat to make room to sit. She looked thoroughly disgusted by her surroundings, but he couldn't help but smile at him. "Give me your phone." He told her quietly.

Sofi pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket and passed it across the seat to him. "How can anyone live in such filth?" She directed her gaze to the back of Higgins' head. "You have no pride at all. Is this how you live?" She couldn't hold her words in, the fire in her eyes told Angel she wanted to say much more to the man steering the car.

Angel had learned years before not to try to shut Sofi's mouth when she had a thought in her mind that she had to get out. All that pent up frustration would just come back to haunt him later if she didn't get it out now. He would prefer that she didn't irritate their hostage, so to speak, but he wasn't about to shut her up. It was for the most part a fair question. The man lived like a pig wallowing in trash. He was bitter about his life, but he did nothing to try to make it more pleasant or bearable, he just floundered in the garbage around him and then bitched about it. Did he like living like that?

Hell, Evelyn Mercer had taught her sons cleanliness and manners, and all the things none of them thought they'd ever need, but in the end all of that had molded them into the type of men they had grown to be. They had something to be proud of, and fight for; they were a family with some sort of values to guide them, even Bobby with his tough exterior had been taken to the Evelyn Mercer School of family and it had stuck with him. What the hell did Higgins have to fight for?

Sofi was still bantering out remarks about the trash surrounding her, part of her words were coming out in English, the more colorful expletives were camouflaged in the language she'd grown up speaking at home, with her family; though it was obvious Higgins was able to decipher the meaning of the words with the way his arms tenses as he turned the steering wheel in front of him.

Angel decided not to try to add to the comments or quiet Sofi just yet. She hadn't fully vented and so long as Higgins didn't get pissed and drive them into some pole he wasn't going to say a word to her. Higgins didn't have to like what he was hearing, the man was a jerk, and Angel could care less if he was unhappy with Sofi's insults. Most ass holes don't like to hear the truth when it's thrown back in their face. Higgins would get over it, or not, who the hell cared. He needed to let Bobby know how things were progressing, so he pulled his attention away from Sofi's voice and concentrated on working her frilly phone, pink. Damn, the woman had a fucking pink phone? Why had he not noticed that before? Damn, all he needed was for Bobby to know he was making a call on a pink phone.

Before he had the chance to dial Jack's number the phone in his hands vibrated. Damn, leave it Sofi to keep her phone on vibrate. He looked at the display before answering it. The last thing he needed was to answer to one of Sofi's ditzy friends who wanted to talk about clothes or men. He was relieved to see Jeremiah's number pop up and quickly answered. "Hey, I was about to call Bobby." He informed him.

Jeremiah said he'd just talked to Bobby, and then went on to inform Angel of his revelation that Winston was dead. Angel wasn't as sure as Jerry that Winston was such a victim in the whole mess. It did seem he'd been acting against his will, given the message that had been left on his phone. It would be an interesting avenue to pursue with Higgins. If Macks forced Winston into anything the man should know.

"I got a name out of Winston's apartment too. Patrick Dennis, he might be involved with the explosives." Jerry went on to tell Angel what he was planning. He had talked to Green, who knew the name well, and was heading across town to pay a visit to his business.

"No." Angel shook his head. "Jerry, you don't go anywhere on your own man, show some brains. Let me finish here and I'll come with you." He spoke quickly, trying to halt Jeremiah's forward motion remotely. "You just stop right now."

"I got this under control Angel. You're starting to sound a hell of a lot like Bobby, and to be honest, I don't like being treated like a complete fool. I know what I'm doing." Jerry hung up the phone.

"Shit." Angel quickly punched Green's number into the phone, "Looks like we've got a change in plans." He glanced at Higgins, ready to get directions from Green so they could meet up with Jeremiah. Yeah, this was going to be a fun one to relay to Bobby, he was going to be pissed.


	71. Chapter 71

Yay, it's back! I've been catching up on some reading, but figured I'd better get this up before it gets too late. Thanks to all for reading, and for those of you that review, special thanks!

Do not own, make no money.

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**Chapter 71: Intersection**

Bobby looked over at Jack, who was thumbing through a phone book. They had picked one up at a corner store, using Craig's idea of stealing the directory because it seemed the most convenient way to find a phone number for Dearth. "You found anything yet?" He asked his younger brother, feeling frustrated.

"No, not yet, you know, he probably doesn't have his home number in the book. Why would he, he's got his work number published in the paper every day." Jack rolled the window down and chucked the directory out towards the curb.

Bobby scowled at the action. "What the hell did you do that for?" He cried out.

"What, you wanted to keep it?" Jack asked. "It's a dead end Bobby. We aren't gonna find his number in there."

Bobby shook his head. "Maybe Green knows his number. He met with the man, hell he might have taken down his number." Bobby motioned at Jack's pocket. "Call Jerry and tell him to ask. He should be at the hospital by now."

Jack pulled out his phone and called Jeremiah's number. He sighed after a short second. "Went to voice mail," He muttered. It seemed odd that Jeremiah would be on the phone. "You don't think he'd call Camille do you? He'll be on the phone with her forever."

"You got Green's number?" Bobby asked.

"No." Jack stared at the phone for a moment. "But Angel does." He started hitting buttons while Bobby made a sharp right hand turn with no warning.

"Where are you going?" Jack asked.

"To the hospital," Bobby muttered. "I'll ask Green myself."

"Angel," Jack spoke when Angel picked up, "You got Green's number?" He asked quickly and looked over at Bobby."

Bobby let out a huff as they came to a stop light. "Does he have it?" He looked over at Jack, who seemed to be listening and ignoring his older brother. A cloud formed over the younger man's features. "What?" Bobby didn't like the look, or the sound of his brother's voice. "Give me the fucking phone."

Jack finally held the phone out to the man. "You're not gonna be happy." He muttered.

Bobby snatched the phone quickly. "Angel, you got Green's number or not?" He asked.

"Bobby we got a problem." Angel spoke quickly and went on to tell his brother about Jeremiah's plans to find the guy, Patrick Dennis.

"I told him not to go to check this guy out alone." Bobby cried out.

"I told him the same thing. I just got off the phone with Green and he knew the name, knew where to find him, and he told Jerry all he knew. Jerry's hell bent on asking this guy some questions. He thinks he supplied the explosives that blew his warehouse to hell and he thinks he might have some info on Macks." Angel responded. "I got Higgins driving me there now." He let out a soft chuckle.

"What the hell have you found out form Higgins?" Bobby asked.

"Oh hell, we got our part taken care of here. No need to worry about that, we gotta worry about Jeremiah. The man is about to walk into a fucking hornets' nest." Angel quickly rattled off an address. "Can you meet me there?" He asked.

Bobby thrust the phone back in Jack's direction. He had heard the address, but he was too pissed to retain any information like that. "You get the address from Angel, and you tell him we'll meet him there." He punched the gas despite the fact that the traffic light was still a bright red beacon hanging above him in the intersection.

Jack mumbled a few words to Angel and seemed to be making a mental note. "Okay, man, got it." He spoke. "We can be there in about fifteen minutes." He hung up the phone.

"I'm gonna kill him." Bobby muttered under his breath. He told Jeremiah not to go anywhere alone. Apparently Angel felt Jeremiah was walking into a dangerous situation, and he knew more of the facts than Bobby did. Hell, why hadn't he questioned Angel more? Why hadn't he bothered to ask him exactly what Green had told him? Damn it, he was gonna kill Jeremiah for putting him through this. "I'm gonna kill that stupid, hard headed son of a bitch. What the fuck is wrong with him, he's dumping a perfectly good plan to 'wing it'." He cried out with no warning.

Jack looked over at him and smiled. "Damn, sounds like someone else I know."

"He's gonna get himself killed and fuck up any chance we have to draw Macks out." Bobby shook his head.

"Give him a little credit Bobby. If Green knew about this guy then maybe there is a connection and we need to check it out. It'll probably pan out a damn sight better than anything more Dearth would have to say to us." Jack spoke seriously. "Maybe this is exactly what we need to be doing and instead of getting pissed off because Jerry's pulling one of your stupid stunts, maybe you should just back him up. Hell, since when have you been so fucking set on following a plan?"

Bobby started to sputter out some kind of an argument, but his voice wouldn't cooperate. His mouth moved a few times in total silence. "Fuck." He finally muttered.

Jack looked pleased with himself. "Now just shut the fuck up and drive." He sat back in is seat and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

"Don't push your luck fairy." Bobby didn't look back to his brother, and though he was trying to sound pissed his words seemed weak, he knew that. Jack had just told him to shut the fuck up and drive and he didn't like the way it felt.

* * *

Angel pointed at a cross street and told Higgins to make a left hand turn. "You know anything about this Patrick Dennis?" He asked Higgins for the first time since their new destination had been chosen for them by Jeremiah's fucked up decision.

Higgins snickered unpleasantly. "What the fuck makes you think I would tell you if I knew shit?" He spoke with spite.

"The piece in my pocket pointed your way should be a good motivator." Angel kept his tone even with an undercurrent of threat to it. He smiled but made certain not to let the corners of his mouth spread too wide, it was meant to look menacing, and it usually worked.

Higgins glanced at Angel but only for a second. He fixed his gaze on the road and drew in a shaky breath. The coward shook his head. "I don't know the guy." He rushed through the words. "I don't know much about Macks' contacts or his operation; I just take his calls and then collect the money from him when I've done my job."

"How much did you know about Jessup Winston?" Angel questioned. "Turn right at the next light." He pointed in the general direction.

"I didn't deal with Winston; I don't know shit about him or his people." Higgins shook his head.

Angel believed him for the most part, but there was something missing and he couldn't put his finger on it. Higgins may not have known too many details about Macks' operation, but he knew something about the guy and the explosives. Angel could feel it, like an electrical current running through his veins, each beat of his heart generating a spark that he couldn't ignore. There was something Higgins was a bad ass until he was backed into a corner, just like most cowards, and right now he was crammed tight into a little corner with no place to run. "You know something about this guy, now spill it." He decided to push a little; he couldn't ignore the feeling that he was missing something.

"He was Winston's guy, not Macks'. I don't know him, but I know Macks went behind Winston's back and made contact with his people without him knowing about it. More than likely, if I were to make any kind of a guess, Macks contacted the man without Winston knowing about it." Higgins seemed to groan as he spoke. "He's gonna fuckin' kill me." He muttered and shook his head.

"You're just now figuring that out? You dumb ass, he was planning on killing you from the start, he just ain't used you for all he can, yet." Angel could keep the disdain out of his voice. The son of a bitch really didn't see it? He had really been that fucking stupid to think Macks wouldn't take him out as soon as he'd used him up for all he was worth? He looked out at the street and shook his head slowly while his mind molded around Higgins' words. "You think about it, Officer Higgins." His voice choked on the reference to Higgins' title. "Your only chance to get out of this thing alive is to help us take down Macks. Hell, it might even help you with the charges that are gonna be hanging over your head for trying to kill a fellow officer."

"I didn't kill him." Higgins spoke quickly. "I couldn't kill him, he's a cop. I made sure the shot I took wouldn't be fatal. I made sure he got medical attention as soon as possible."

Angel laughed mockingly. "You got morals huh? Can't take down a fellow officer, but you can help a fucked up whack job like Macks take down a whole family, my family, rape a kid and sell his services to sick fuckers who want to get their rocks off on little boys?" He felt his teeth grind hard. "Yeah, you're a real fucking upstanding cop, now aren't you?" He turned to look at the dirty cop next to him and for the first time could see a real fear etched into his features. "You're gonna be lucky if you get out of this alive. If Macks don't kill you, if your brothers in blue don't take you down, I got some pissed off brothers who just might come gunnin' for you, and I'll be right there with them. Remember that you sick fucker." He couldn't keep it in.

"Angel." Sofi's hand reached up and rested on Angel's shoulder, but for a change she didn't go into a long ramble of words. That's what he loved about her. She knew when it was time to take shit slow and quiet, and this was one of those times.

Her touch did seem to quell the anger that was rising in him. The idea that this guy driving them was no better than the scum that sifted through the sewers was hitting him hard at the moment, and her touch was just what he needed to level his thoughts and put the lid on his rage before it boiled over.

They came to a four way stop, and Angel looked up in time to see Bobby's car pulling to a stop on the opposite side of the intersection. He smiled at Bobby and waved. Bobby looked at him and pointed east. It was a right hand turn for Higgins' car, a left hand turn for Bobby. Angel knew that by all rights Higgins had the right of way, but he motioned for Bobby to make the turn. "You let him go first." He told Higgins.

At that moment a dark Volvo sedan came to a stop on at the west side of the intersection. "Damn." Angel knew Camille's car immediately and obviously so did Bobby. All three vehicles sat there, Jeremiah looking at Angel and then back to Bobby.

Bobby shot Jeremiah the finger, and then motioned for him to drive on through. It was a surprise to Angel, who was sure Bobby would get out of his car and confront Jerry right then and there. Instead Jerry started pulling through the intersection. Apparently Bobby was figuring this might be a good lead after all, even if he hadn't been the one to stumble onto it. Angel almost let a smile slip past at the thought of Bobby relinquishing the lead to Jeremiah. Maybe the man was able to let go of the some of the control after all.

As soon as Jeremiah was through the intersection Bobby's car made the turn a little too fast, the car's tires screeching in pain as it took up position behind the Volvo. Well, that was more like it, Bobby was willing to let his anger show in one form, and Angel was glad it was by abusing the car, and the traffic laws, and not by getting out in the middle of the street and yelling for the entire city of Detroit to hear.

* * *

Adam Macks pulled over to the curb and watched the brief confrontation at the intersection. He smiled as he did a quick head count. The Mercers were hunting, for him. Angel Mercer and the girl were seated comfortably in Higgins' car. Jeremiah Mercer in the dark, fancy looking sedan, and Bobby Mercer was driving the fucked up reincarnation of his previous ride, with Jack Mercer sitting next to him. He had them, but his boy wasn't with them.

Where in the fuck did they think they were heading? They weren't just crossing paths here, they had a destination. Jeremiah's car pulled through the intersection, heading east. Bobby Mercer turned and followed kicking up street debris with his wheels, and then Higgins' car took the tail end, all three vehicles moving east. Macks pulled the car back onto the street and made the turn, making sure to stay far enough back that they wouldn't make him as a tail.

His mind reeled back in time, to the country roads in Ohio, when the Mercers were following him and Jordan. The tables were turned now. He was the one tailing them, and all he had to do was wait them out. He was sure they wouldn't be stupid enough to leave the kid at their home, alone. They had him stashed somewhere, and eventually they would lead him right to his little bitch. He just had to take precautions, and not let them see him. Hell, they wouldn't know the piece of shit car he was driving, so he just had to stay far enough back and be patient.

"Macks, you know exactly where the hell they're going." Jones spoke quietly once they were heading east. "They're going to see your buddy, Dennis."

Macks smiled. "Dennis." He nodded his head. "Now how the hell did they know about good old Dennis?"

"Obviously dead men do tell tails." Jones reasoned. "One of them must have been in Winston's digs, going through his shit. Found the name, maybe even linked him to the explosives you planted at the warehouse. The same shit you gave those boys to plant on Mercer's car, right?"

Macks felt an icy blade prick at his guts. "That was before your time Jones. How the fuck do you know about that? Stay out of my thoughts and mind your own fucking business." He muttered as he eyed the back end of Higgins' car from a distance, watching to see if the cars took the next turn which would lead them to Patrick Dennis' door.

"I'm in your fucking head Macks, what do you expect? I know a lot of shit about you that you don't want to leak out. Don't worry, it's not like I can step out and go visit the cops with your secrets, now is it?" Jones' tone turned slightly, sounding almost sinister to Macks. He didn't like the sound of it, and he didn't like what he was feeling from Jones. The fucker was planning something, he could sense it. He didn't like the fact that Jones could get into his memories and know so much about him. It wasn't as if he could do the same.

He had no idea what Jones was thinking most of the time, and it was unsettling. The ass hole knew all of his secrets, but he was finding it difficult to know what Jones was up to. He was worried about that fact. He had no idea if Jones was planning to turn against him, but from his experience, it was about time for that to happen.

Every one turned against him sooner or later; his parents had turned on him. Lydia had turned against him, choosing the fucking brat over him. Then that brat had turned against him, not listening, and doing what the fuck he wanted. He'd fought him the last time he'd had his hands on him, in that building the night before; he'd fought against him at the pond too. Winston turned against him, and now Higgins. He knew Jones was close to the point of turning and working against him. He wasn't going to give him the chance. He would show him who the fucking boss was. He was in charge, not Jones.

* * *

Craig watched Camille run the broom across the floor. The hard wood was bare closer to the walls, with the carpeting only covering the center of the room. He had volunteered to do the dusting, but he hadn't gotten very far with it. Johnny had brought up some cleaning supplies for them to use, and though they were okay, it wasn't same as what they used at home, it felt too different, and working with a real feather duster difficult. He was used to using an old rag and a can of cheap furniture cleaner. He found himself watching Camille work and wondering why they were even bothering. They weren't going to be there long, no matter what the outcome of the day. At least he hoped they weren't going to be there long. He felt as if he was suffocating, and they'd barely been there an hour, he was sure.

Johnny seemed okay, but he hadn't talked to him too much. He remembered the man from the night Bobby had started his hunt for Evelyn's killers, and he was nothing more than a stranger to the boy, though it was obvious that Bobby had known him well back in the day. Johnny insisted they keep the door closed and locked. He had a key on his ring, and he could let himself in. He gave Camille the number to the bar below and told her to use her cell phone if she needed anything and he would bring it up. He said it was best if no one else knew they were there, and to keep quiet as the day progressed.

Every sound from the outside seemed to penetrate the walls. Car doors slamming, people yelling, even kids playing down the street. It seemed every noise pierced the quiet of the room, and played hell on Craig's nerves. He moved around the room, hitting the dresser and the television with the duster, but it only seemed to stir the dust around in swirls that reminded him of the tiny snowflakes that were starting to fall outside the windows. He finally gave up and put the duster in the green bucket sitting in the corner close to the door. He walked over to the couch and looked out. "Do you think they'll call soon?" He asked and turned to watch Camille stop swinging the straw broom.

"I don't know sweetie, I wouldn't expect them to call before noon." Camille answered quietly. "Why don't you lay down for a little bit?" She looked around the room as if weighing the results of her cleaning efforts.

"It's too quiet to sleep." Craig muttered and turned back to the window. He couldn't very well tell Camille that he had no desire to try to nap. Everyone seemed to be waiting for his pills to start working, making him drowsy, and it wasn't going to happen because he hadn't taken them. He felt too wound up on the inside to attempt faking it, though he knew that soon Camille would start to question why he wasn't laying down and drifting off into some drugged state.

"Well then, why don't you see if you can get that television to work?" Camille motioned to the ancient box. "Maybe you can find something on and lie down and watch it. You look beat."

Craig sighed and turned away from the snow flurries drifting back and forth on the other side of the window. He stepped over to the T.V. and studied it for a moment. He found the power switch and turned it on. The old box let out a low hum, but the screen lit up with a distorted cartoon image. Craig reached for the rabbit ears with both hands and started moving the antenna slowly, careful not to jostle the broken one around too much. He was able to get a picture in, at least one that could be watched if you squinted hard, though the sound seemed to hiss a little.

Well, that killed two minutes. He stepped over to the refrigerator and opened it up. The light came on and cool air filtered out into the warm room, but the shelves were empty, and to his surprise clean. He pushed the door shut and stepped over to the table, looking out the window there, not sure why he felt the urge to see what was going on outside. It may have been the sounds that kept reaching him from the other side of the walls. He didn't like being able to hear everything that was going on outside. It made the room feel too exposed and vulnerable. If he could hear so much outside, who was to say people couldn't hear them inside?

"I thought you were going to lie down." Camille spoke after a few moments.

Craig turned and looked at her. "I can't." He muttered. "What else can I do?"

"You can finish dusting." Camille smiled.

"That wasn't doing any good." Craig shook his head.

"You can wash off the table." Camille suggested.

Craig looked down at the table next to him. "It's stained. Washing it won't do any good." He looked back out the window. "When do you think they'll call?"

"Sweetie, you need to calm down, that's all. Nothing is happening yet. They'll all call and check in soon enough. They haven't been gone that long you know." Camille smiled and returned to pushing the pile of dust around on the floor. "Maybe Johnny will have some cards and we can play a game of something after you take some time to rest?" She offered.

"I don't want to rest." Craig couldn't keep the irritation out of his words. He didn't want to lie down and he didn't want to keep telling Camille that. He wasn't sure what he wanted. He knew that if someone were to call right then it wouldn't help him feel any better, but waiting, knowing that a call should be coming at some point was playing games with his imagination. 'What ifs' were trying to creep back in and he was doing all he could to hold them back.

"Well walk around the floor in circles then." Camille spoke as the boy moved back over towards the bed, looking at the neat blankets that had been spread across the clean sheets. "I'll get you a little something to snack on when I'm done here and you can take your pills. Bobby said you could take them about ten."

"I don't want something to snack on, and I don't the damn pills." Craig moved back to the couch and rested on the center cushion to look out the window, again. His stomach felt dizzy and his hands were shaking. It was all he could do to hold onto them, out of Camille's line of sight so that she couldn't see them.

Camille didn't say anything else. Craig wondered if it was his words or his tone of voice that had silenced her. She didn't like to hear him swearing, of course; neither did his brothers, which didn't make one bit of sense to him. The idea of being in trouble for talking like his brothers seemed to stir up more irritation inside of him.

He wanted to get out of that room, and away from everyone, meaning Camille since she was the only person around at that point; though she normally didn't bother him much, she was irritating him at that moment. He knew deep down it really wasn't her; it was something else inside of him. He wanted his brothers to come back, and he didn't want to be stuck in that room. He wanted everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours to just go away and leave his brain alone.

Time seemed to stand still, but eventually Camille moved to the restroom to clean in there. Craig turned and looked at the room. It did look better than when he had initially stepped into it that morning. He wondered what time it was, and looked at the television to see if he could make a guess at the time by what Saturday morning cartoon was playing, but he hadn't watched much Saturday morning television since his brothers had been home, not that he'd watched a whole lot of it before, but he seemed to be less in tune with what was on than he used to be. He wondered just how much the weekend lineup had changed since he'd last taken notice of it.

His brain was screaming at him that he really didn't give a shit about the cartoon. He let out a frustrated huff of air and walked to the restroom door. Camille was scrubbing the small sink with furious strokes, as if she were upset. She didn't look at him, but he could tell she was aware of his presence. "What time is it?" He asked quietly, wondering if he'd somehow pushed her to a point that she would lose her temper with him. He'd never really seen it happen with her, but he'd heard Jerry talking about her being more than capable of matching wits with him in an argument.

"I don't know Craig; I don't have a clock on me at the moment." Camille didn't pull her attention away from the stubborn stains in the sink.

"Your cell phone…" Craig started to suggest.

"Is in my purse, and no, you can't get in my purse." Camille finally stopped scrubbing and looked at the boy. "You need to go lay your butt down on that couch, but if you insist on staying up then you can help me clean this place. Which is it gonna be?" She held the scrubber she'd been using on the sink out in Craig's direction, "Because I ain't playing this game with you all day. You need to work off some nervous energy, then fine, but the key word is 'work'."

Craig stared at Jeremiah's wife for a long moment before reaching out and taking the scrubber. "Sorry." He muttered.

Camille sighed. "It's almost nine o'clock." She forced a small smile as she answered the boy's question about the time. "If you want to talk, we can talk. I already know all the things that you are thinking and feeling right now. Don't you think I'm scared? My husband is out there too, the father of my babies. I'm worried about them all, and I wish I could be there with them. It doesn't seem right that Sofi can go with Angel, but I can't go with Jerry, so I do know what you're feeling. But the best way for us to help them is to stay put here and take care of ourselves. Do you understand that?"

Craig shook his head slowly. "No." He answered. "I just want to go home. I don't like it here. I don't like how it feels." He barely got the words out.

"Oh, believe me; I damn sure know what you mean about that." Camille cried out, letting some attitude escape in her words, but she smiled. "So let's make it feel better. You get this sink cleaned up I'll take care of the shower. When we're done, we'll flip a coin to see who gets the toilet." She grimaced as she glanced down at the porcelain seat.

Craig looked down at the toilet and shook his head. "I'm not cleaning that." He made a similar face as Camille and they stared at each other for a long moment.

"We'll get Johnny to clean it." Camille finally spoke.

Craig knew Camille was trying to joke with him, but he didn't feel like joking, and he didn't feel like laughing. He watched as she grabbed another scrubber and some cleaner and started working on the shower stall.

Craig scrubbed on the sink, and though he wanted nothing more than to get out of that room, this was better than arguing with Camille. He sure didn't want her to send him back to the couch to lie down. He had a feeling the next time she told him to nap it wasn't going to be a suggestion; it was going to be an order. He had to find a way of holding in the storm that was brewing inside of him.


	72. Chapter 72

Sorry for the delay :( I wanted to get this up sooner, but it''s here now, so let me know what you think! Thanks all for reading, and thanks for the reviews!

Still don't own, still make no money!

* * *

**Chapter 72: Patrick Dennis**

'Michigan Demolitions' swirled around in dark blue paint against gleaming gold decorated the metal sign that graced the front of the modern looking steel building snuggled in between two ancient wood and brick structures that had at one time been thriving businesses of some kind. Jeremiah parked in front of the steel structure, its grey metal siding speckled by the flakes of snow drifting around in the air was a sad sight to him. It lacked the character that seemed to emanate from its abandoned neighbors.

He tore his gaze away from the building and glanced in the rear view mirror; he watched Bobby park directly behind him. He wondered why Bobby and Angel had both decided his little expedition was important enough to warrant their attention. He could see the creases forming across Bobby's forehead, even in the mirror, and was convinced it wasn't the man's desire to check into this Patrick Dennis guy, but more a need for him to raise a little hell with one of his brothers for not doing what he'd been told. He barely noticed the car drive on down the streett, not all too interested in any other vehicle, only the one holding his angry brother parked behind him.

Jeremiah sighed and turned off the engine, not sure that he wanted to get out of the car and head straight into the confrontation waiting for him outside. He had no doubt Bobby was about to raise hell with him for making a decision on his own and disregarding the so called orders given to him.

The man steeled his self as he opened the door and got out of the car, pocketing his keys as he did. Angel was getting out of the passenger side of the strange car parked behind Bobby's, and he watched as his younger brother leaned over and said something to Sofi through the back window; Sofi smiled as if she'd won the lottery.

"Jerr', I told you not too come here." Bobby was walking towards him, thrusting his finger towards him with every other word escaping his mouth, as if to emphasize the fact that he was talking.

"I know what ya' all told me, but I got a feeling, man, this is something, and I wanted to check it out. You both didn't have to come down here you know, I was just gonna do a little digging, I'm not stupid enough to raise too much hell with a man who's some kind of explosives expert." Jerry kept his eyes fixed on Bobby. He was not going to back down from this.

"We both told you not to come by yourself Jerry. Hell, we wouldn't have come here on our own. You need back up for this kind of shit." Angel spoke out as he joined them at the car.

Jerry looked at Angel and pulled a frown before looking at Jack, who was taking his time climbing from the passenger's seat of Bobby's car. "You gonna jump my shit too?" He spoke the words loud enough that Jack could hear him. He wasn't ready for Jack to start chewing him out; it would feel too damn wrong for his baby brother to be lecturing him. "Because, in case none of ya' all have noticed, I've been taking care of myself just fine for quite a few years without any of you around for so called back up." He returned his stare to Bobby. "So lay off." His voice came out with tightness to it that he couldn't hide.

Bobby opened his mouth, but then a confused expression shadowed the already visible signs of anger. "What?" He finally cried out.

"Just for the record, I was defending you all the way over here." Jack walked around the front of the car and leaned on the hood, looking almost hurt.

Jerry looked at Jack; his first reaction was surprise, and then regret for feeling so damn defensive. "Hell, I ain't so sure that's much better. You were never too fucking great at arguing a point." He spoke the words loud, but managed to smile at him, hoping he'd see he did appreciate the effort. Defending any one to Bobby was a challenge not too many people would dare take on.

"I talked to Green. He said this guy was fucking trouble; do you really think that you're gonna go in and flash them big teeth around and everything is going to be just dandy?" Angel asked the question with slow well enunciated syllables. "What the fuck kind of drugs are you doin'?"

Jerry flashed an angry glare at Angel. "So, ya' all came racing down here to stop me." He shook his head. "Treatin' me like I ain't got any more street sense about me than Craig, huh?"

"We all came down here to fucking back you up. With that kind of attitude, maybe we should've just let this fucker waste your ass." Bobby's voice rose slightly, then he turned to Angel, "What the hell you plan on doin' with Higgins anyway?" He gave a slight nod towards the car parked behind his but didn't look towards the dirty cop sitting in the driver's seat.

"I left Sofi in charge of him." Angel smiled. "She didn't like the idea at first, but I told her she could get her gun out and she was all for it."

Bobby groaned and turned towards the building. Jerry chuckled softly to himself. "And to think I was worried about Bobby. Hell, I should have been worried about being this close to Sofi and her loaded gun." He shook his head.

"Man, you all need to lay off my girl. She ain't that bad you know." Angel tuned to Jeremiah, looking serious.

"Well let's get this over with." Bobby turned back to Jeremiah. "The quicker we get this done the quicker we can take that fucking gun from 'La Vida Loca'." He looked pissed.

Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. "Well how do you want to play this?" He pointed to the building.

"Don't look at me little brother; this was your fucking idea. We're just here to back you up, remember?" Bobby motioned for Jeremiah to take the lead.

Jeremiah stared at Bobby for a long moment. "Okay." He rubbed his hands together in front of him and stepped past his brothers towards the entrance.

He heard Bobby from behind him as he spoke to Angel. "You sure she's gonna be okay with a loaded gun?"

"Hell, she's only got one bullet, how much damage can she do?" Angel laughed.

"Hey fairy, you need to stick around out here and pull Loco Ono duty." Bobby spoke quickly. "Get the gas can out of my trunk and be ready with it. I'll yell if we need you inside."

Jack muttered something in response, but when Jeremiah pulled the door open and glanced back he could see the younger man walking towards the car. He caught Bobby's face as his oldest brother reached out to catch the open door Jeremiah was holding for him. Bobby looked satisfied that he'd kept Jack out of the line of any fire that might erupt in the next few minutes. Jerry nodded his approval to Bobby; he didn't like the idea of Jack being too close to any heavy action that might go down. The night before had been too fucking close, and after coming so close to losing him just a few short weeks ago it just felt safer to keep him as separated from potential danger as possible given their situation.

The interior of the building looked as new as the outside. The reception area was small and mostly bare except for an unmanned counter. The back wall held framed certificates and licenses. There were a few chairs lining the wall opposite the counter and one door behind it, apparently leading back into the more functional part of the building. Jeremiah stepped up to the bare counter and looked around. "Well someone must be here, the door wasn't locked." He muttered.

"Hello?" Bobby called out. "Hey, you got some potential customers here."

Jeremiah turned towards Bobby. "You're gonna let me handle this, right?" He asked quickly.

"Of course I am. It's all yours sweetheart." Bobby took a half step back from the counter. "Just hurry the hell up, we ain't got all fucking day." He sounded irritated.

"You could always go wait with Jackie, you know. I'll stay with Jeremiah." Angel leaned towards Bobby slightly. "We don't want you getting too fired up and pulling your piece on the first person who comes through that door, now do we? I doubt it will be big dogs we gotta worry about if you piss this guy off, he has explosives, big booms, and a fucking fire extinguisher ain't gonna stop that." He pointed to Bobby's left arm, a reminder of the dog bites inflicted when they'd chased after Damian weeks before.

An argument flared behind Bobby's eyes. He opened his mouth to answer Angel but the door behind the counter opened and a large, dark haired man stepped through, positioning his overweight body behind the counter with some sort of care before he looked at Jeremiah, Bobby and Angel. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" His words carried an accent; he was from New York maybe, but definitely not Detroit Michigan.

"I'm looking for a man by the name of Patrick Dennis." Jeremiah spoke casually, his gaze taking in the dirt under the man's fingernails. He was a hard worker or he was a slob, he hadn't determined that part yet.

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he seemed to be trying to hide his own suspicions about the three men in front of him. "What do you want with Patrick?" He asked.

"Heard he was the best man in town for blowing shit up, what the hell do you think we want with him?" Bobby's spouted with no warning. "He's in the business of selling explosives, right?"

The man focused his attention on Bobby, at least for the moment. "And who would have told you that?"

"Jessup Winston." Jeremiah spoke quickly, pulling the paper out of his pocket and holding it up so that Winston's hand writing showed in the fat man's line of vision. "Was he wrong?"

"You got some demolition that you need done?" The fat man reached for the paper, but Jeremiah pulled it back out of his reach.

"Somethin' like that." Jeremiah nodded his head. "Are you Patrick Dennis?" He figured he may as well come right out and ask the man.

"Might be; depends on what you want done." The man's eyes stuck to Jeremiah now.

"We might need to blow up a fucking warehouse you moron, what kind of shit do you usually blow up?" Bobby's mouth just couldn't stay closed. Jeremiah was wishing that the man would go back out and wait with Jack.

"Who are you? Why would Winston send you to me?" The man still hadn't confirmed he was indeed Patrick Dennis, but he wasn't denying it at the moment, in fact his statement seemed to clear all doubt about his identity.

"We just have a few questions about some explosives; that's all." Angel spoke quickly before Bobby could open his mouth again.

"Well I'm the one to ask, so ask." Patrick Dennis folded his arms awkwardly across his chest. The chubby bits around his arms didn't seem to fit well across the top part of that stomach hanging off of him.

"If you were going to blow up a building without the cops being able to trace the explosives back to you, where would you get the shit?" Jeremiah asked, holding his voice calm. "Word is a person would come see you. You have anyone come see you last night Mr. Dennis?"

Dennis didn't smile, in fact no emotion showed on his face. His eyes flicked from Jeremiah, to Bobby, to Angel, and back to Bobby. He turned and made a mad dash for the door behind him.

"No, man, don't do that!" Jeremiah cried out, and Dennis turned back, pulling to a stop, as if he might be willing to talk, so long as no violent intentions were shown on the part of the three men confronting him. It was too late. Bobby's hand reached for his gun and a moment later the piece was waving around in the air. Dennis turned away and continued his retreat.

"Damn Bobby, you said you was gonna let me handle it!" Jeremiah ran around the counter with Bobby close behind him.

Angel took the short route, diving over the counter in an attempt to catch hold of the back of Dennis' shirt before he actually made it through the door, but that failed, miserably, and he landed on the floor in a heap. He was scrambling to his feet as Jeremiah and Bobby squeezed past him and through the door.

Patrick Dennis was running as hard as his chunky legs could manage; different parts of his body seemed to jiggle in his attempt to build up speed. The storage space he was leading the Mercer's through was filled with tall security cages, each of them holding various sizes of wooden crates. As Jeremiah passed one of the cages he noticed the red warning letters stamped on the side of one of those crates, 'Explosives'. "Fuck, Bobby, put the gun away, you're gonna blow us all up!" He pointed towards the warning as he ran past, closing in on Dennis, whose body obviously wasn't used to the strain of running; the man made it to an emergency exit door on the side wall and disappeared, but it was only a short moment before Jeremiah hit the same door and followed him out into the tight space left in between the newer, more modern building and the brick wall of the abandoned building next to it.

Jeremiah was surprised the larger man was able to squeeze into the tight space leading to the street where Jack was waiting. It gave a claustrophobic effect that even Jeremiah couldn't seem to escape. He wondered if his brothers behind him were experiencing the same closed in feelings as they squeezed their selves between the buildings, moving as quickly as the narrow quarters would allow.

"Dennis, we just want to talk!" Bobby yelled out.

Jeremiah heard his brother's words and made a mental note to discuss with the man the advantage of keeping his gun concealed in the future, but this was not the time to try to get into it with him.

* * *

Macks passed up the three cars parked in front of Patrick Dennis' place of business, keeping his head ducked down just in case anyone noticed the car and looked his way. He moved up the street, looking around for a good position to park so that he could keep his eye on the situation. He couldn't let Dennis talk. The man would give away the fact that he'd approached him behind Winston's back and paid for the explosives he'd planted at the warehouse. It would point to him setting Winston up to die in the blast.

He probably should have dealt with Dennis differently, but he had to be sure he had the supplies, in case he lost control and put a bullet in Winston's head beforehand. Besides, he didn't trust Winston. He was sure the pussy would try to weasel out of getting him the needed charges and timers, and he'd been right. Winston hadn't taken enough money with him to pay off Dennis. Dennis had taken the cash without questioning the small amount, and if Winston had any sense at all about him he would have picked up on that warning sign.

Patrick Dennis had known he was planning on killing Winston, how could he not know? It wasn't as if Dennis cared. He didn't like Winston, didn't think the man paid him enough for all the shit he did under the table for him, and he did a lot for Winston. Hell, the man had his hands in a lot of different pots the truth be told. He had no problem selling dynamite to teenagers, or even trading the explosives for some good snort. The man had no standards. If he thought it would benefit him he'd find a way to pull it off. He doctored his books and the government, who monitored his business closely, was too fucked up to catch his dirty deeds.

Winston's work relationship with Dennis had been legitimate for the most part. He had given Dennis real work, real jobs, and that had helped establish a real business for the man. Without Winston around Dennis was screwed. If the man didn't know that now he would figure it out soon enough. There was no one around to help cover his trail of illegal distribution of high level explosives, and he'd start talking in an attempt to save his own ass. That meant he's sing a pretty song about the dealings he'd had with Macks. The Mercers would make sure their good buddy, Green heard the whole thing. Another ass hole was about to turn on him. He had to decide how he was going to deal with both Higgins and Dennis and whatever he was going to do had to be done quickly, before either of them ran their mouths too much.

He turned the car into the first alley he came to, using it as a turnaround. He backed into the street, and headed back towards 'Michigan Demolitions'. He inched his way closer, watching the men group together. He got as close as he dared and pulled up over to the curb to park. He pulled his gun out of his coat and checked to make sure he had enough ammunition. He smiled and looked back to the Mercers.

He had a straight shot at Higgins, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to take that shot just yet. He needed to wait for the right time. He still had to find out where they had his boy hiding out. He was regretting the fact that he hadn't gotten out of Jordan's house earlier that morning and headed straight to the Mercer house. He would have been able to follow them and know exactly where the kid was stashed.

"That's what happens when you don't listen to me." Jones spoke quietly. "You wasted too much time, you fucked around and now you can't take out the Mercers. You can't touch them until you locate the kid."

"Shut up." Macks growled as he gripped the gun hard. "You're gonna be next Jones, if you don't watch yourself."

Jones laughed again. "What the hell you gonna do Macks? You gonna put a bullet in my head? I don't think so."

Macks felt the heat of pure rage building behind his eyes. He wished he could shut the voice up and make it go away. It was annoying. He glanced at the rearview mirror, and Jones' eyes stared back at him, laughing and mocking him. "We'll continue this talk later. Right now we need to deal with this shit." He shifted his gaze back up the street, where the Mercers were walking towards the door. He watched three of them walk through the door.

Jack turned and walked back to the middle car, Bobby Mercer's car, and lean against the back end of it. The girl got out of the back seat of Higgins' car and stood next to it. The two of them seemed to be talking and Macks wondered just what they were discussing.

Macks rolled down his window and rested his left arm on the edge. The snow was starting to fall a little harder now; the flakes seemed larger and heavier. He drew in deep breath at the cold air hit his lungs. He wanted a cigarette, he wanted to lose himself in some kind of mental haze; Jones wanted something to distract his mind for just a moment, it might open a door for him to push in and take over. He forced the thought to stop. He could feel Jones trying to creep back in and that was unsettling.

Instead of doing nothing more than watch the scene down the street he decided to make it interesting, it would give him focus and keep Jones as bay. He pulled his gun up in his right hand, using his left arm resting out the window for support, sighting in on Jack Mercer. He could still remember how that kid felt. He could still see the fear in his eyes the one time he'd managed to get his hands on him. It hadn't been the same as it was with his kid, but it had been so fucking close. He had fucked up that time. He'd had a plan back then, but he'd fucked up and he'd lost his chance. Jack Mercer hadn't done what he was supposed to. He'd screwed up his plans then, and he'd managed to fuck things up again just the night before. "Don't fuck this up ass hole." Jones kept his voice quiet, nothing more than a whisper. Macks felt the cold air sucking into his lungs as his finger tightened around the trigger. Damn, this would be an easy kill.


	73. Chapter 73

As always let me know what you think and thanks to all for reading!:)

Don't own, make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 73: Exposed**

Jack looked at Sofi as she got out of the back seat of Higgins' car, her eyes seemed to be dancing, and there was no doubt that the gun held in her right hand had something to do with that. He could feel a smile hugging the corners of his eyes, but he did his best not let it show. He pulled his cigarettes out and took his time pulling one from the pack. "He gonna be okay in there without you guarding him?" He asked once Sofi was standing on the sidewalk.

"He's not going anywhere." Sofi held up the keys to the car. "I told him to hand these over and to sit tight."

Jack nodded his head as he pushed the filter tip of the cigarette in between his lips and shoved the pack into his pocket. He dug for his lighter, still keeping his eyes on the gun in Sofi's hands. "You really like carrying that thing around?" He asked.

Sofi shrugged her shoulders. "I don't like it, but I don't hate it. I feel better knowing I have it. Wouldn't you?"

Jack shook his head. "Naw, I hate guns." He reminded her as he found his lighter. His hand cupped around the flame as he held it to the tip of the cigarette and inhaled deeply. He couldn't shake the jittery feeling that gun seemed to pull from his gut. He couldn't get a grasp on why it seemed to bother him so much at that moment. "Higgins was helpful?"He looked at the man sitting behind the wheel in the driver's seat while his hand found his pocket to drop his lighter back into its place.

"He sang like a fucking pussy." Sofi smiled, tapping at her coat pocket where the recorder had been stashed. "He admitted to working with Macks but he claims he don't know where to find him."

"You think he was lying?" Jack asked, squeezing the words out between his lips and his cigarette before taking a draw off of it.

Sofi shrugged her shoulders and was about to answer, but Bobby's voice cut through the air from somewhere close, but out of sight. "Dennis, we just want to talk!"

Jack pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and turned in the direction he was sure Bobby's voice was coming from. He took long, fast strides towards the far side of the building. He rounded the corner and found himself facing an oncoming man, quite wide, but a bit on the short side, who was apparently running from his brothers as quickly as his overweight body could carry him in such a confined space. His eyes took in the whole scene in a short second. Jeremiah was the next in line, followed by Bobby and then Angel. The gun in Bobby's hand seemed to stick out against the white snow falling around them, growing thicker by the second.

Jack had no choice but to side step the oncoming collision heading his way. He managed to duck back around the corner just as Patrick Dennis emerged from the cramped walkway. The sound of a gunshot blast seemed to echo through the entire street.

Jack dropped to the ground on instinct as the metal siding above him hummed loudly with the impact of a bullet. The only two guns he'd taken notice of in the past few minutes were in the hands of two of the craziest hot heads he'd ever known. Bobby was on the wrong side of the wall for his gun to have gone off. Jack was about to look back at Sofi, but the man he assumed was Patrick Dennis was running past him, towards the street and that drew his attention. Jeremiah, Bobby and Angel followed closely behind the fat man and Jack was about to get back to his feet and join in the chase when a second shot filled the air with a loud 'crack'. Patrick Dennis' body seemed to rock slightly to the left, and the man took one more step before he fell in the street.

"What the fuck?" Bobby turned towards Sofi as the three men pulled to a stop, leaving a safe distance between them and the body lying in the street.

It seemed their first thoughts were right on track with Jack's as all eyes turned towards Sofi, who was crouched down behind the safety of Higgins' car. Jack realized then that it couldn't have been Sofi. She only had one bullet, according to Angel, and Dennis seemed to have been shot from the other direction. His eyes darted about, until the sight of the car parked on the opposite side of the street half a block away fell into view. "Bobby!" He could see the glint of metal, and was sure it was a gun pointing towards his brothers, exposed in the wide open street.

Bobby was moving towards the man heaped in the street, "Someone call for an ambulance!" He called out. "Fuck."

Angel moved in Sofi's direction and Jeremiah was pulling his phone out of his coat pocket as he followed in the same general direction, towards the sidewalk, and the relative shelter of the cars. Jack was on his feet, his mind taking the information in at a speed he hadn't expected. The gun was aimed at Bobby, out in the open street, an easy target. His feet moved without thought, his legs pumped hard, but he remained down, as if that was really going to be in his favor once he ran out from behind the back end of Jeremiah's car into the open. He felt as if he were running through mud, unable to move his legs fast enough.

The third shot Jack had been expecting finally resounded against the buildings, reverberating over and over in his mind, though he wasn't sure that it actually rang out repeatedly as it seemed. His mind seemed to experience it all in slow motion. He was sure he seen the muzzle blast out of the corner of his eye.

Angel and Jeremiah both hit the ground and scrambled for the cover of the cars. Jack wasn't quite within reach of Bobby; he took that long dive into his brother's side. Bobby hit the pavement hard, his gun fell free of his hand and took along slide across the snow speckled asphalt road, spinning as it went; Jack landed on top of him, just in time to see Patrick Dennis' body next to him flinch hard against the impact of the second hit. It had all happened in an instant, and yet Jack felt as if it had taken forever.

"Fuck! Fuck! Where the fuck did that come from?" Bobby pushed against Jack, "Get the fuck off me fairy!" His voice was loud, but Jack seemed to barely hear the words. He relented to the force against him and rolled off the man, pointing towards the car half a block away.

His feet found a grip on the street, and he expected Bobby to move with him back to the safety awaiting behind the cars before any more shots were fired. It wasn't until he was rounding the back end of Jeremiah's car, another brother reaching for him in the last few inches that he realized Bobby hadn't followed. He turned and looked back.

The car was moving now, the engine gunning hard, picking up speed while Bobby grappled for the gun and tried to find his footing. Jack felt his gut twist on him as his mind flashed the inevitable picture of Bobby being slammed by the car, his body flailing through the air, broken and limp.

"Bobby! Get the fuck out of there!" Angel yelled out.

"Bobby!" Jeremiah's own voice chorused in with Angel's.

Jack couldn't find his own voice. He was certain he was about to witness the end of Bobby Mercer's life. Different moments from the past seemed to flash through his brain, important moments that had involved Bobby and his tough exterior giving way to true expressions of feelings during those times that Jack had needed it the most.

Bobby's feet found their position beneath him, his hand wrapped around the gun, and in one motion he turned and took aim on the car while his feet moved him out of the line of impact in the last instant. He fired off two rounds as the car sped past him. Macks was in plain sight, his left arm hanging out the window, the gun aiming towards Higgins' car as it streaked past, firing off more shots.

Bobby popped off two more rounds at the retreating tail lights, while Angel grabbed Sofi's gun out of her hand and stood to take a stance and fire off the one round waiting in the chamber.

The car continued down the street, and the silence of the now heavy snowfall seemed to blanket them all, for a moment.

"Call Green, call an ambulance, Jack, gets your head out of your ass and get in the fucking car!" Bobby's voice seemed to penetrate the numbness that had fallen over Jack's brain. He turned to see Jeremiah on the phone. Angel was telling Sofi to stay with Jeremiah as he moved to the Cutlass.

"Jerr', check Higgins, he ain't moving!" Bobby was pulling the driver's door open and climbing into the car. "Jack, move your ass or I'll leave you here with Jerry!" He yelled one last time as he slammed the door closed.

Jack managed to get to his feet as Angel ran past him. Angel grabbed his arm and pulled him along.

Jack got into the back as the car roared to life and Angel had barely managed to drop into the passenger's seat when Bobby slammed the gearshift into drive, and twisted the steering wheel hard to the left, pulling onto the street and swinging the car ninety degrees to chase after Macks.

* * *

Craig fell back across the bed. The restroom was had been scrubbed from top to bottom. Camille seemed confident that they had gotten every last stain, smudge and germ cleared of the shower, sink and floor. She had given in and tackled the toilet in the end. The entire room seemed to be filled with the different smells of pine cleaner, scouring powder, soap scum remover and ammonia.

Camille walked out of the restroom with her arms full of bottles of various cleaners. She deposited them in the bucket and looked at Craig while she stretched her back. "You ready for some food yet?" She asked.

Craig gave his head a slight shake from left to right. No, he wasn't hungry; no he didn't want the pills. He'd managed to hide the turmoil stirring inside by focusing on the scrubbing, venting as much of it as he could by killing as many of those nasty stains as he could. Now he had nothing to focus on, and no way to release that energy. It was starting build already, and he'd barely had enough time to catch his breath. By all rights he should be feeling wore down by the amount of effort he'd put into the work. He had purposely applied more pressure than needed, and had scrubbed furiously, pouring his soul into each scratch he'd embedded into the floor and the porcelain and the glass. He had worked up a sweat, and his muscles were actually feeling the burn, but energy as still there, deep inside of him. The image of Adam Macks looming in the shadows of his thoughts egging on the anger and resentment that he'd managed to blank out of his mind while he worked.

His brothers hadn't phoned yet, and frustration and fear were battling for control. He wished he knew what was going on. They had said they would call a lot and keep them informed of what was going on. The fact that no one had called could mean they hadn't found anything yet, or nothing important had happened. Of course it could also mean that they were all dead, and would never come back. His fear was building, and his brain was reaching for something to grasp onto, of course, the worst possibilities were what it was latching onto and embracing.

Camille walked over to the dresser, where her purse was resting. She dug in it and pulled her phone out. "Maybe by the time the food gets here you'll feel hungry. You need to have something on your stomach when you take your pills." She dialed the number for the bar and looked down at the boy. "What do you want? Does a hamburger sound okay?"

"I'm not hungry." Craig muttered. His gaze stuck to the ceiling above him. It was no surprise that there seemed to be a thousand water stains marking what appeared to be white wall paper above.

"You're going to have to eat something." Camille held the phone up to her ear.

"Why haven't they called yet?" Craig swallowed at the panic that seemed to try to choke off his words.

"We'll try to call them; will that make you feel better?" Camille next to him on the bed and gave his leg a gentle pat.

Craig looked up at Camille, and was sure he could see concern behind her gaze. She was worried too, and anxious, just like he was. He tried to tell himself that this was just as hard on her as it was on him, but his brain didn't quiet buy into the argument, or if it did it didn't care at that moment what Camille was feeling. He couldn't seem to get past what was churning inside of him. It wasn't her father that was after them. It wasn't her past that was coming back to haunt their entire family, it was his, and it was his fault all of this was happening. Guilt was now playing into the mental tug of war, with all the other different emotions battling for control.

Camille ignored Craig's lack of any kind of appetite and asked Johnny about a hamburger and a salad. She thanked him when he apparently told her he'd prepare it and bring it up for them, and then she hung up the phone. "I'm going to call Jeremiah." She looked down at Craig. "Okay?"

Craig shrugged his shoulders. He figured Jeremiah would probably be the only brother who would answer his phone for Camille's call, and only because it was Camille and he'd want to talk to her. He tried not to feel anxious as Camille opened her phone and made the call. He did his best to study the water spots above him and try to find one that held some sort of design in it that his mind could play with and concentrate on. He tried not to listen for her voice talking to Jerry, but his ears seemed to strain, trying to listen for any words. None came.

Apparently Jerry wasn't answering his phone, not even for his wife, and Camille didn't leave a message. She closed the phone up and sighed. "We'll try after we eat, okay?" She asked. "I'm sure he'll answer then."

"Sure." Craig didn't let his eyes move from the ceiling, and he didn't bother to try to argue about eating, he knew Camille wasn't listening, just as his brothers didn't listen to him when he tried to tell them something. No one ever listened, never heard what he was trying to say, and he was starting welcome the feeling of isolation that seemed to bring, though he wasn't alone. If no one heard him, then eventually no one would see him, or at least that was how it felt.

Camille stood and put her phone down on the dresser. "Let's see if there's anything on the television yet." She walked over to the set and started playing with the channels, turning the knob one click at a time. "There might be a game on." She looked over at the teenager.

Craig could see the woman out of the corner of his eye, though he was still staring upward, at the water marks. She must have found something because she settled on one channel and sat on the couch. "Oh, Craig, look at the snow." She spoke cheerfully. "It looks like we might be in for some weather."

Craig didn't bother to look. He didn't want to know what the weather as like outside. Why should he care? He was stuck inside with Camille, and none of his brothers were going to call because they would forget about him. They didn't really want to be bothered with checking in, they were too busy. He was locked up in a room and his insides were ready to jump out of his skin.

While his eyes focused on the yellow, rusty looking stains above him a blue glow seemed to light up the edges of his vision. He could hear the sound of voices from the television, and with each syllable of each word the glowing pulsed and started to send off sparks. He sat up, in a panic, his eyes squeezing shut as he rose. The back side of his eyelids only seemed to provide a deeper canvas for the colors to swirl around on. The colors seemed to trigger a loud buzzing in his ears.

"Craig? What's wrong baby?" Camille's voice sounded faint against that buzzing, but the colors grabbed hold of it and swirled around to the beat of her words.

Craig opened his eyes and looked around the room. He was sure he could feel his father close by. He could smell his breath and feel the heat from his body and it all made him feel nauseous. "I want to go home." He felt confusion gripping at him. Where the hell was he and where was Bobby? Bobby had left him again. He'd left him to face his demons alone. He should have known it would happen. He couldn't count on anyone. He had no one that he could trust. The only person who had ever been there for him was his mother and she was dead. He'd known it would only be a matter of time before his brothers threw him away, and it seemed that time was now.

"Baby look at me," Camille's voice was echoing off each brain cell, and the sound of it caused colors to dance around the room, swirling around and forming patters. Some spirals, others encircling the roses that stretched from floor to ceiling along the walls. He realized Camille was standing in front of him, her hands grabbing onto his arms.

"I'm gonna throw up." He managed to speak the words, but he didn't hear them, he watched them float out of his mouth as pink and yellow orbs and circle around Camille once before entering her right ear.

Camille's mouth moved and the colors intensified. They floated around him and he lost them to the roses. The buzz intensified, piercing his eyes with a blinding pain. He pushed against Camille and tried to stand, but the rooms started to spin, and then he could feel himself falling into a dark pit where everything finally fell silent and black.


	74. Chapter 74

Yeah, I know, it just never seems to end :) Let me know what you think and thanks for reading and for the reviews!

Still don't own, still make no money....

* * *

**Chapter 74: Snow and Ice**

Craig felt as if he were floating. There was nothing around him, nothing to look at, or hear, or feel, and it was good, for the short time he stayed there. His brain seemed to tingle for a long time, and then he could feel everything coming back to him. He looked up from his seat at the table, and could see Camille standing close to the bed, talking to Johnny. He looked down at the plate sitting in front of him with a hamburger resting in the middle of it, and a pickle lay next to the sandwich. A large bowl holding a salad was sitting on the other side of the table. He felt confused, and lost. How did he end up at the table? When did Johnny bring up the food?

"He's just scared. He didn't mean it." Camille was speaking quietly. "I honestly don't know what to do. I can't get an answer from Jeremiah, or Jack. I haven't tried to call Sofi's phone yet."

"Don't worry about it. I was young once, and I know what it's like. I can only imagine the things going through his mind right now. Try to relax; someone will answer soon, I'm sure." Johnny looked over towards Craig and then back to Camille. "I have to leave for about thirty minutes, but I'll be back soon enough. I have a few last minute things to pick up before the big bash tonight. My waitress was supposed to pick them up on her way in, but she just called and said she wasn't going to be able to. I'm sorry, I hadn't planned on this." He looked as if he were battling with staying or leaving to take care of business.

"It's not going to be for long, and we'll be just fine." Camille smiled at the man. "I feel safe here, so don't worry about it. You are doing so much to help us, and we can't expect you to drop everything."

Johnny nodded his head. "I won't be long, that is a promise. When you're done with the dishes, just bring them down and put them on the counter, I'll get them when I get back. No one else is due in until one." He gave her a small smile. "I'll make sure the place is locked up tight, but stay out of the bar and away from the windows when you take the dishes down." He told her before turning to the door to leave.

"Johnny, thank you, for everything, we really do appreciate it; even if some of us are acting out." Camille glanced at Craig while she followed the man to the door.

Craig sat back in his chair, wondering what had happened. He had no memory of Johnny coming in, or of moving to the table to sit down. He wasn't sure what he'd done or said, but apparently it hadn't been very good from the sound of Camille's quiet, but strained voice. He did his best to block out the goodbyes being said at the door.

Camille closed the door and locked it after Johnny had walked down the stairs. She turned and walked over to the table, her steps slow. Craig reached out and picked at the top bun on the hamburger.

Camille reached the table and sat down opposite of the boy. "I would think you could show a little more appreciation to someone who was trying to be nice." She carefully placed a hand held game on the table. "Johnny was trying to make it easier for you, you know that, right?"

Craig looked at the game. "Sorry." He muttered, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for.

"I'm not the one you need to say that to, now am I?" Camille shook her head and reached for the dish holding her salad. "I hope you remember to tell Johnny you're sorry when he comes back."

Craig turned his head and looked out the window. The snow was falling thick and the wind was starting to pick up. The television was still playing quietly, and it still had a buzzing sound playing around the words. He thought that it sounded like a weather report, but he didn't bother to look over to confirm. He didn't really care. He wished he was home. The ache in his gut, the need to be home, was growing intense.

"You really need to eat." Camille spoke after taking a few bites of her salad. "You're going to have to take your pills after you eat."

"I'm not hungry." Craig spoke the words harshly, and he knew it as they spilled from his mouth, but he didn't care. How many times did he have to tell people he wasn't hungry? He had too many thoughts running through his mind right then to want to eat.

Camille looked at him and her eyes held a fight in them. He was sure she was about to rip him a new one, but the cell phone, which was lying on the dresser rang out at that moment. "Oh, you'd better be thankful someone decided to call. But that does not mean you're getting by with that." She stood and practically ran to the dresser.

Craig sighed and watched Camille pick up the phone. She looked at him. "You'd better be eating that sandwich before I get off this phone, or you are going to be in for it." She warned as she looked down at the phone. She smiled and answered it quickly. "Baby, I've been trying to call you, where have you been?" She sat on the bed and turned slightly, putting her back to Craig.

Craig looked out the window and watched as Johnny walked across the parking lot to a car. He listened to Camille's quiet voice as his gaze trailed the vehicle pulling out of the small parking area next to the bar. He could feel a nervous tension pulling at his stomach. Bobby didn't know Johnny would be leaving them there. That wasn't supposed to happen, was it? He didn't like the vulnerable feeling that seemed to well up from inside. What if his father found out where he was? What if he came and managed to break into the room? There was nothing to stop him from breaking in, there was no one else around except Camille, and try as she might she could never fight him off, not alone.

He thought about all the people who had fought against his father in the past, and he couldn't remember anyone who had ever won. His mind screamed at him that this time was not going to be any different. In the end, everyone and everything he cared about was going to be destroyed and broken down to nothing. He was going to lose everything, and the harder he held onto it the worse it was going to hurt when it was ripped away. All the hope he'd been holding in would be crushed and he would have to face reality. He belonged to Adam Macks, and he always would.

He didn't belong in the Mercer house, no matter how badly he wanted to. He wasn't one of them, he wasn't like them. He didn't talk like them, he didn't act like them and he couldn't understand them most of the time. Jack's secret had proved that a thousand times over, no matter how many different ways Jack tried to rationalize it all with him, he had still lied to him, and he had no way of knowing if he was lying to him still, or if Bobby or Angel or Jerry were lying as well. How was he supposed to trust what they said to him or believe what they promised? It was never going to work. He was better off facing that fact now. They hadn't wanted him before, how could he expect their feelings to change so quickly?

"Well, he's not doing that great Jeremiah. I really wish Bobby would call him soon. He's about to drive himself crazy here." Camille's voice was still quiet, and Craig wasn't sure how he managed to take in those words. She seemed to quiet her voice even more as she went on talking and he wasn't able to hear any more.

Snow was blowing hard against the window, but he stared out into it, feeling as if a tunnel were forming around him, spinning with each flake that blew past him. His eyes studied the street below him and watched as a few cars moved past; their speed was drastically reduced by the amount of snow accumulating on the pavement, and the poor visibility. He couldn't help but find his mind trying to focus on the drivers of the cars as they slowly crept past. He was sure that at any second he would look at one of the cars and see his father's face staring back at him with that sick smile plastered across his mouth.

Camille spoke from her seat on the bed. "Craig, do you want to talk to Jeremiah? You can talk to him for a minute and then you can eat."

Craig looked over at her. He knew what she was trying to do. She thought that if he spoke with one of his brothers he'd feel better and then he'd be able to eat enough food that she could give him those damn pills and make him sleep most of the day. He didn't want to listen to Jeremiah talking to him as if he were a small child, telling him to listen to Camille and do what he was told. He was sure that even if anything was happening as far as his brothers tracking down his father that Jeremiah wouldn't share that information. He shook his head slowly and returned to his game of searching out Adam Macks on the street.

"Craig, don't you want to talk to Jerry? He wants to talk to you." Camille walked over, holding the phone out towards him.

"I don't feel like talking." Craig muttered without pulling his gaze away from the street below.

Camille turned away, resuming her talk with her husband. "You heard him Jeremiah." She walked to the restroom and closed the door quietly.

Craig could only imagine what she was telling him from the privacy offered behind a closed door. His mind produced a conversation for him, with Camille talking about how terrible he'd been acting, and how she didn't appreciate being the one stuck with him. He'd been mouthy and hadn't been listening at all. He was making this harder for everyone and it was his fault they had the problem of Adam Macks to deal with.

Jeremiah would, of course agree with his wife, and tell her how she didn't have to worry about it much longer that once Adam Macks had the boy back they wouldn't bother going after him again. He was too much trouble, and it wasn't as if they wanted him to begin with. HIs mind could have gone on for a lot longer, bringing out all of his fears and producing more reasons for him to just get the hell out of there.

Craig felt his legs twitch with the desire to run. He stood and walked to the door, snatching his coat in his hands as he passed the bed. He flipped the lock and pulled the door opened quickly. He could hear Camille's muffled voice on the other side of the restroom door. He stared towards it for a moment; part of him was trying to resist the urge to walk out the door. "If you go home you'll be safe." He spoke quietly to himself and felt his legs take control again as he moved down the steps quickly, pulling the door closed quietly after him. He needed fresh air, and he wanted to go home.

* * *

Bobby hit the gas and struggled with the slick conditions forming on the street as the snow turned heavy. He turned on the wipers to clear the accumulating mess off of his windshield. "Where in the fuck did he go?" He cried out, having lost sight of the tail lights only half a block from where Macks had gunned down two of his contacts.

"He turned right." Jack called out from the back seat, "At this first street up here."

Bobby felt the tires sliding under him as he slammed on the breaks. "Fuck, where the hell did he come from? How the hell did he know where we were going to be?" He twisted on the steering wheel, his back end sliding as he made the right hand turn at the first street. "Do you see him?" The back end was still sliding as if the car was still in a hard turn and it took all his concentration to play with the wheel and stop the spin about to take hold of them.

"Watch what the fuck you're doing!" Angel cried out. "I think he's still ahead of us." He started to point straight ahead, but grabbed for the dashboard instead once he noticed how Bobby was struggling to pull the back end under control. The tail end whipped all three men to the left, and as Bobby turned on the wheel the slide changed and jerked them to the right.

"I can't see him where the hell is he?" Bobby squinted ahead of him, still struggling with the unruly car.

"Just drive straight; I'm sure I see his lights ahead." Angel insisted, his voice holding tension.

"Why are we even chasing after him?" Jack called from the back seat. "We know he ain't at Jordan's right now, why the hell don't we go there and wait for him? He's bound to show up sooner or later."

Bobby managed to straighten out the car and hit the gas. "Fuck that, if we can catch up to him here then it ends now. I don't want to drag this shit out all fucking day. I'm sick of this." He didn't yell, but he sounded pissed. He was pissed. Not at Jack or Angel, but he was pissed because even when they did come up with a plan it seemed something screwed it up and now it looked as if Higgins was shot, possibly dead. The only new lead they had was laying in the street with bullets in him. As always they were fucked. "How the hell did he know where we were?"

"How the hell should we know that? Maybe he followed one of us." Angel suggested and seemed to brace his self for another possible slide; though Bobby was sure he had it under control.

Bobby's mind was grasping Angel's words, rolling them over in his head and analyzing the possibilities. If Macks followed Angel it wouldn't be so bad, or if he'd followed Jerry it wasn't a problem. But what if he'd followed Bobby? If he'd followed them as they drove to the bar then he knew where Craig was. But he'd watched for anyone following them. He had been sure they were clean of any tails. It would make more sense for Macks to follow whoever had Craig when they left the house but Bobby Mercer was certain they hadn't been tailed.

"Is that him?" Jack called out, bringing Bobby out of his thoughts. The snow seemed to thin out a little, or the wind wasn't blowing it as hard, and he could see the street ahead a little more clearly than before; there was a set of tail lights ahead at a stop light. He squinted against the view through the windshield and shook his head as him mind called up a mental picture of the piece of shit car Macks had been in command of. "No, that's not him." He looked up the street past the intersection and could see more traffic ahead. He hit the gas and swerved around the car at the light, running through the intersection.

"Fuck Bobby, what is wrong with you?" Angel yelled out, though there had been no cross traffic to maneuver through.

"Where the hell is he?" Bobby couldn't rid his mind of the picture of Macks following him to the bar where he'd left Craig.

"I don't know, man, we lost him. We can't see shit in this weather." Angel responded, he sounded a little calmer than before. "Let's just go back to Jerry, he's gonna need us back there when the cops show up."

"He followed one of us Angel." Bobby glanced over at Angel.

"Yeah, we done guessed that one Bobby." Angel didn't look over at him; he had his eyes focused straight ahead out the window.

"What if he was following us when we took Craig to Johnny's?" Bobby voiced his worry. He let off the gas. There was no need to be speeding through the streets if they had lost their target.

"You don't know that he was following you. If he followed you do you think he would have been waiting out on the street to gun us down at Dennis' place? Hell, he would have gone straight for the kid." Angel's voice of reason came through. "He had to have followed Jerry, or me and Sofi. He probably picked Jerry up at Winston's apartment, or he showed up at Higgins and picked us up there. If he knew where Craig was he wouldn't have bothered coming after us."

It felt as if the car was hit with a rocket from the back end. The motion drove Bobby into the steering wheel, and rocked Angel forward into the dash board.

"Shit, Bobby, he's behind us!" Jack yelled out while Bobby struggled to maintain control of the car.

A fire ignited somewhere deep inside Bobby's chest. He could feel his blood heating up as the anger rose. The traffic in front of him was getting closer, or he was getting closer to it actually. There were more cars on the street than there had been an hour ago. "That son of a bitch," He felt his voice growl out the words. He had no choice but to hit the gas and swerve into the other lane. It seemed as soon as he picked up speed the snow picked back up with intensity; the flakes seemed to be smaller, but they were falling faster and harder than before, and the view ahead of him was warped and blurry. He sped passed the cars in the right lane, thankful that for the moment there was no oncoming traffic. He looked into his rear view mirror and could see Macks was coming up his ass end, keeping with him. He couldn't see the man's face through the snow and glass, but it was definitely the same peice of shit Toyota they'd seen in front of Dennis' building.

The car behind him lurched forward and smashed into his back end again, causing the Cutlass to fishtail slightly.

"Fuck you!" Bobby yelled out, as if Macks could hear him. "Come on, you son of a bitch, come and get my ass!" He struggled to keep the car under control, and found an opening in the right lane. He turned the wheel sharply, trying to make a mental estimate of how much play he was going to have on the snow covered street. He glanced up into the mirror to see Macks following his move.

The car in front of Bobby hit his brakes for whatever reason and the man instinctively turned the wheel harder to the right, taking him onto the sidewalk.

"Shit!" Angel's voice screeched out, apparently not expecting the diversion away from the blacktop and onto the concrete.

"Again with the sidewalk," Jack yelled out from the back seat. "Can't you keep it on the street?" His reference to Bobby's driving the evening before did not go unnoticed and Bobby made a mental note to smack the kid on the back of the head, hard, the first chance he got.

"Shut up Jack!" Bobby yelled out as he checked the rear view mirror, no car behind him on the sidewalk. He turned and glanced out his window on his left. There he was. The fucker was right next to him, blocking any exit from the sidewalk.

The car was trying to slide around on him, but he managed to keep it under control. He could see another traffic light ahead, and hit the gas. He twisted the steering wheel hard to the left, slamming his way back over onto the street, the left side of his car crunching up against the passenger's side of Mack's car and forcing him back out into the opposite lane of travel. Macks stayed next to him; he didn't fall back or move ahead and Bobby had been hoping for one or the other.

"What the fuck?" Angel cried out again. "Bobby, watch it!"

"Where's your gun Angel?" Bobby yelled out as he pulled on the steering wheel hard, fighting to hold his position in the lane of traffic. The cars behind them seemed to have disappeared, apparently the drivers of those cars felt it was safer to turn off or hang back.

The traffic light ahead was showing green, in their favor, so the cars ahead of him were picking up speed, obviously trying to put some room between themselves and the battle taking place between the Cutlass and the Toyota.

Bobby twisted the wheel again, slamming hard into the side of the Toyota, the impact seemed to rock the Cutlass back towards the sidewalk, but his hands held firm, fighting against the tension behind the steering.

Angel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his handgun. "Shit, this ain't a good idea in broad daylight!" He spoke loud enough to be heard over the sound of grinding metal. "Fucking new car is gonna be a junk heap by the time you're done with it." He rolled down his window. "Jack, spot me." He didn't give Jack a chance to respond as he slid through the window, his feet pushing down on the seat.

Jack dove through between the seats, his hands grabbing hold of Angel's ankles. "Why don't you just run him off the street?" He called out as he held onto Angel, fear etching deeper into his face as he spoke.

"What the hell do you think I'm trying to do?" Bobby looked ahead at the intersection they were about to reach. "Hang onto his ass Jack!" He yelled as he twisted the wheel to ram Macks again.

Jack quickly wrapped his arms around Angel's legs, clinging to them hard. His body was still draped between the two seats, his legs supporting him on the back seat.

As the car lurched to the left the sounds of gunshot rang out above them. Bobby could picture Angel's hands gripping the gun, across the top the car roof, aiming at Mack's car while he sat on the window. He mentally cursed himself for putting his brother in that position, but they had to do something to get Macks to move ahead of them. They were at a disadvantage being chased. He preferred to be the pursuer, not the pursued.

Macks met Bobby's ramming efforts by turning into him. Both cars seemed locked with each other as they sped through the light. Bobby made a hard left turn, hoping to force Macks into a spin in the intersection.

"Fuck!" Angel's voice was barely audible above him as the Cutlass took the turn.

Bobby could feel the car's back end sliding to the right, forcing the front end into the beginning of a spin. "Bobby!" Jack called out, drawing the man's attention to the struggle he was having trying to pull Angel back in. Angel was trying to slide back through the window, one hand reaching in.

The Toyota was in the same spin, both cars side by side, only a few feet separating them. Bobby kept his hold on the wheel with his left hand, sure that there was no way to control the car even with both hands doing the work. He reached out with his right hand and grabbed hold of Angel's hand, pulling on it, trying to drag him back into the car.

The force of the spin made the attempt feel futile. Angel hung out the window though he was struggling against the force pulling on him. Bobby gave him a hard pull, and the action seemed to work, with Angel coming back through the window. Jack barely managed to pull back in time, but was still lying through the gap in the seats.

In the same instant the Toyota's spin seemed to increase, the back end of it slamming into the back door of the Cutlass and throwing tail hard to the right. Bobby hit the brakes, turned his wheels into the spin and found a small bit of control before purposely whipping his rear end back into the smaller car.

Everything seemed to happen too fast to keep up with. The Toyota took the impact hard, and though Macks was trying to regain control the car turned sideways directly in front of Bobby, sliding down the street, two cars coming from the opposite direction jumped the curb and came to a stop in an empty lot as the Toyota slid past. Bobby remembered the chase from weeks before, when they had run down his mother's killers, and he was sure he could repeat his maneuver from that night, flipping Macks' car and ending this whole thing once and for all. He pressed the gas to the floor, aiming for the passenger's door directly in front of him; he planned on ramming it hard enough to flip the smaller coupé: instead the impact straightened whirled the car around, setting it straight in the street and Macks gunned the gas, taking off and leaving a trail of black exhaust in his wake.

Bobby hit at the steering wheel. "Fuck!" Well at least they were behind Macks again, and not being run down by him.

"Get his sorry ass!" Angel yelled out, grabbing hold of the seat belt and pulling it around him.

Jack was trying to pull his body backwards through the seats, but it seemed every move Bobby made with the steering wheel was throwing him off balance. The last sharp pull on the car jerked the younger man's head into Angel's lap.

Angel reached down to fasten his seat belt and looked at his younger brother. "What the hell do you think you're doing dick lips?" He forgot the seat belt for the moment and pushed Jack away from him.

Jack managed to pull into the back seat. "Damn Angel, you carrying a pea shooter in there?" He spoke sarcastically, his tone showed his irritation at his brother's comment.

Bobby glanced over at Angel, who had returned to pulling on the safety belt. "Can you shoot with that thing on? Cause if you can't then don't fucking think about putting it on." He yelled, his anger showing again.

"You tryin' to get us killed? Cause if you plan to keep driving like you are then I ain't leanin' out any more fucking windows." Angel sounded just as pissed.

"Fine, just stick your piece out there and give the son of a bitch somethin' to worry about." Bobby wasn't in the mood to argue, and he knew deep down that Angel was right; he didn't need to be hanging out the damn window, not right then.

Macks made a left hand turn at an intersection, his tail end flared to the right, then swung back to the left, smashing into the side of another vehicle sitting at the stop sign. Bobby followed suit, managing to make the turn with a little less turbulence than Macks, but now the snow was changing, and it smacked the windshield looking more like ice, bouncing around before the wipers had the chance to clear it away. The streets were going to get worse, he knew that, and that meant their pursuit was going to have to come to an end soon, he had to make sure of it.

Bobby looked around the area, taking in his surroundings; there weren't many buildings around, more empty lots and bare parking areas than anything else. He watched Macks pull another turn, this time to the right, heading north. Bobby let off the gas and turned into the parking lot that took up the entire corner. He would cut across it and meet up with Macks on the cross street. He took care as he aimed the car towards that street, cutting across the snow covered lot. He hit the gas, watching the Toyota speeding up the street. It was going to take a good aim, and good timing to meet up with Macks at just the right spot. He had all intentions of ramming the side of the other car as he came out of the lot on the cross street.

It wasn't until the two cars were about to collide that Bobby realized he probably had too much speed behind him. He hit his brakes, but it was too late. The impact was harder than he'd anticipated the sound of metal against metal ripped through the car. The air in the car turned stale and exhaust stung at his nose, but he wasn't sure if it was from his car or his victim's. He couldn't hold onto the steering wheel, it seemed to be spinning out of control. The Toyota was still in front of him, the momentum of the Cutlass pushing it across the street towards a utility pole. Sparks flew past the windows and the only thing Bobby could think or yell out was "Oh shit!"

The stop came suddenly, with the Toyota directly in front of the Cutlass. Bobby felt dazed from the complete silence that seemed to descend on them. He realized his aching chest was resting on the steering wheel. He tried to pull his shaken brain out of the haze it had fallen into. The Cutlass didn't look too damaged, but the engine had stalled. He looked at the hood of the car on the other side of the windshield and could tell it had been wrinkled back. To his surprise it didn't look as if he'd struck the car at such a high rate of speed. He looked over at Angel, who was holding onto his own chest, the seat belt holding him securely had prevented him from hitting the dash but no doubt had bruised his shoulder or chest or both. "Are you good?"

Angel nodded his head slowly and squeezed his eyes closed. "I knew you were tryin' to kill us all." He muttered. "Where the hell is my gun?" He opened his eyes and started looking around the seat and floor.

"Jackie? Jack, you okay?" Bobby let his body fall back in the seat, turning as best as he could to look into the back seat.

Jack was lying over on his side in the seat, his own belt fastened around him. Bobby wasn't sure how he'd managed to get the belt on with so little time, but was thankful that he had. You younger man looked shaken, but he nodded his head slightly to let Bobby know he was okay.

"Macks!" Angel forgot about his search for the gun and fumbled with his seat belt with his left hand while groping for the door handle with his right.

Bobby's attention snapped forward, to the man climbing out of the front driver's side window of the Toyota and staggering awkwardly across the sidewalk before taking off at run down the snowy street. Without thinking he pushed open his own door and climbed out of the car. He could feel Jack close behind him as he stumbled slightly. His feet felt off balance under him. Damn, the son of a bitch was running, he had to get his own feet moving.

Angel escaped from his side of the car and took off at a hard run after Adam Macks, who seemed to be unharmed from the crash he'd just been through, while Bobby and Jack moved around the back end of the Cutlass to follow. Bobby curse his feet for sliding on the snow and ice mix under him. He could see that Angel ahead of him, gaining ground on Macks, neither of them appeared to be struggling against the icy conditions that had enveloped the grass and pavement.

"Fuck this, Jack, get back to the car!" Bobby yelled as he slowed his run to turn back. Jack followed him without question, his own long legs struggling with the same conditions in a similar fashion.

Bobby got into the car, and turned the key, praying the engine turned over for him. "Come on baby, don't let me down now." He spoke out loud as Jack got into the passenger's seat Angel had abandoned.

"Come on, we're gonna lose them!" Jack yelled after a short second.

"I'm trying." Bobby snapped the words back without looking up from the key. "Come on, please sweetheart; start for me." He moaned as he gave the key another turn and tapped at the gas pedal gently.

The engine chugged and choked and finally took hold. Bobby slammed the gear shift into reverse and managed enough self control to back his car away from the remains of the Toyota at nothing more than a creep. He turned the wheel and was met by a resistant grinding sound from somewhere underneath him. Once he was satisfied that he could change the gearshit to drive and make it around the crushed heap of metal he did just that. The Oldsmobile ran with hard chugs and sounded as if it were about to die at any moment, but it seemed the more gas Bobby gave it the more even the engine sounded.

"You hear that Jackie? She likes going fast." Bobby pressed on the gas pedal a little harder and they were soon up to nearly thirty miles an hour, driving in the direction Angel had been running down the street. He could see his brother turn into an alley between what looked like two stores and he followed, sure that he was going to come up on Angel beating the shit out of Macks, but instead he found himself facing his brother, who was walking back towards him, panting hard.

"What the fuck Angel, you had that ass hole what happened?" Bobby put the car in park and jumped out in one swift motion.

"I don't know what happened. He turned into this alley just ahead of me, but when I got to it he was gone." Angel's words came out strained ad he stopped just at the front end of the car and leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. He managed to suck in long gulp. "That son of bitch is some kind of fucking ghost."

"He has to be here somewhere." Bobby insisted, his fist coming down on the hood of the car.

"Well you tell me where the fuck to start looking Bobby and we can look. There's a damn walkway behind this store, and this one is all boarded up. We can start searching them, but he's probably already ducked out and taken off in another direction. Damn, if you hadn't rammed him like that we would have had a chance to run him down right." Angel sounded pissed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Bobby felt the scowl dig into his face. "I was trying to stop his ass." He yelled.

"You stopped him alright, and us too." Angel stood up and shook his head.

"The car's running, ain't it?" Bobby turned and moved to get back in that very car.

Angel flashed a smile but it didn't look all that friendly, "So now what big brother?"

"Jerry might need some help with the cops you know." Jack spoke up.

Bobby and Angel stared at each other for a long moment.

"Stop the bulllshit, you two can't start fighting over this. We need to get shit straight with the cops about what happened back there and get Jerry out of there. Then we can go to Jordan's, that's probably where he's gonna head now. He ain't got a car, he don't know where Craig is, and he's not gonna do shit to us until he knows that, right?" Jack's voice rose slightly. "You know I'm right, Jerry's gonna need us there, it's not like Green can do much from a hospital bed."

Bobby frowned and looked across the hood at Jack. The kid looked pissed. "You think you're a real smart ass, don't you?" He cried out, but his temper was dying down as the adrenaline rush eased off. "We ain't fighting about shit; we're discussing our fucking options." He turned and moved to get in the car. "Now get your ass in the car before I leave you here to rest your head in Angel's lap again. Shit, better not tell Sofi about that one Angel, she'll get all fucking nuts on you." He cracked the joke as he slammed his door closed.

Jack got in, climbing into the back. Angel got in next to Bobby, mumbling something about Jack getting a certain part of his body removed if he ever ended up in that particular position again.

"Watch it Angel, sounds like you enjoyed it." Jack muttered.

Bobby sighed and put the car in reverse so that he could pull out onto the street. Shit, so much for getting Macks taken care of so soon. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Adam Macks turned into the alley and looked for some kind of cover to duck into. He turned in behind the building on his left; the walkway seemed to run the entire length of the building. He wasn't going to have time to make it to the other end before Angel Mercer reached the same path and spotted him. He ducked into a doorway and kicked at it hard. The wooden door broke in easily enough and he pushed his way inside.

There was enough light filtering in from windows for him to see that he was in a storage room that held hardware and tools. He made his way to the hardware store in the front and ducked down as he came to the windows. He watched Bobby Mercer drive past and make the turn at the alley. His first instinct was to find a place to hide right there but Jones started talking to him.

"You need to get out of here. If they find you in here they are going to end your little game right here and now." Jones laughed quietly. "Not how you expected this to turn out, is it Adam?"

"Shut up." Macks hissed. He didn't want to admit that Jones was right, but he moved to the door, turned the bolt lock and ran out into the street again. He didn't head up or down the street, he ran across it, to another building, and kicked at the door there. He managed to get inside just as Mercer's car backed out of the alley. He pushed the door close and looked around him. A smile crept across his face as he realized he was in a small convenient store. Hell, that meant beer and cheap wine were close. He was sure it also meant video cameras and an alarm system. He looked up at the top of the door. Sure enough there was the contact. He had broken the connection when he busted in the door, and either the system was on a delay and would go off in about thirty seconds, or it was a silent alarm and it had already gone off.

Adam took a quick peek out the door and watched the tail lights of Bobby Mercer's car retreat down the street, etching it's way through the sleet and snow falling. He waited just a few seconds before moving back out into the street. He didn't have much time. The cops would eventually trace Jordan's car back to him. He would have to revise his plan. He had to take care of Jordan right away. He had to put the poor man out of his misery, clear his shit out of the house and find another car. Once that was taken care of, he would take this fight right to the Mercer's front door. Hell, they all had to go home eventually…


	75. Chapter 75

Let me know what you think, and thanks to all for the reviews!

Do not own, make no money.

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**Chapter 75: Snow and Sleet**

Jeremiah hung up the phone from Camille and turned to look at Sofi who was standing next to the driver's side of Higgins' car, looking cold and scared, but still leaning in and holding something over the hole in the man's chest. He walked over to look inside at Higgins, who was still alive, and conscious, barely. Sofi had pulled her hat out of one of her bottomless pockets and was holding it firmly over the man's wound. "You doin' okay?" Jeremiah asked the question quietly.

Sofi looked up at him. "I don't know if he can hear you." She spoke quietly, a tremble haunting her words.

"I was talking to you." Jeremiah looked at Sofi pointedly. "You okay?"

Sofi shook her head slowly. "This wasn't supposed to happen." Her accent sounded thick when she spoke slowly. "I didn't do a damn thing to stop it. I didn't even point the fucking gun and shoot."

"You did exactly what you needed to do; you got your ass down where you were safe." Jeremiah assured her. "You don't think Angel would have jumped your shit if you tried to go all bad-ass? You ain't like that, no matter how hard you try to act it." He gave her a small smile. "That's not what Angel wants, so that's a good thing, take it as a compliment." He added quickly, worried that she may misunderstand his remark

The woman looked down at Higgins and seemed to shiver as she drew in a deep breath. "What if he dies?" She adjusted the pressure on the bleeding.

Jeremiah looked at Higgins. "Then I guess God has a way of dealing out his own justice."

"I'm talking about Angel." Sofi looked back up to Jeremiah for a moment before turning back to stare at Higgins.

The man wondered why both seemed to find it easier to focus on Higgins' ghostly features while they spoke. He sighed and leaned into the car with Sofi. He moved his hands over hers and helped to press on the hole which seemed to still be spilling out blood. "You know Angel Mercer ain't one to go down so easy. He's with his brothers, he's gonna be just fine."

"That's what has me so worried, he's with Bobby." Sofi turned her face towards him and he could see the tears pooling in her eyes. "Bobby gets crazy."

"Yes, he's with Bobby, and believe it or not, Bobby would never do anything that would get any of his family hurt." He thought about his words for half a beat before revising them, "At least not on purpose."

"Did you get a hold of Green?" Sofi asked quickly.

"Yeah, I did. He's calling it in. He said the cop in charge is going to be Johnson. He'll know the details before he gets here. I also called Camille and told her what was going on." The man felt his heart twist as he realized Camille could very well have been in the middle of the shooting. If she hadn't been elected to watch over Craig she would have been right there, with him, he knew it. She had already told him that she wasn't going to sit at home and worry her pretty little ass off over him anymore. She was a part of the Mercer family and she planned on being there when shit hit the fan. Thank God she hadn't been right there with him. It would have killed him to see her as shaken as Sofi appeared to be.

Camille had been fighting a battle of her own though. She had shared with her husband that Craig had been acting 'off'. Not what she had expected from him at all. She knew he had been through a lot, but he had mouthed off to Johnny, cussing at him and rejecting the man's offer of a game in order to have a better way of passing the time than the ancient television. Johnny had looked hurt, but had tried to hide it. Craig was giving her a hard time eating as well, and had mouthed off to her a couple of times.

Jeremiah had offered to talk to his little brother, but that had gone unwanted by the teen. He knew what Craig needed, he needed Bobby. He had planned on calling Jack's cell phone after he'd talked to Camille, but had thought Sofi could use some help.

"Jeremiah," Sofi cried out, "How long until an ambulance gets here?" She sounded desperate, and it pulled Jeremiah from his thoughts. He looked down at Higgins, the man seemed to be gasping for air, and his eyes, which had been open before were barely slits against the pale white of his skin.

Jeremiah tried to think about how much time had passed since he'd talked to Green. His mind was doing what it did best, it was calculating time, and numbers, trying to determine how long they had been waiting and how much longer it was going to drag out for them when the sound of sirens hit his brain. They were coming. "You hear that? They are just a minute or two away." He forced a smile in Sofi's direction.

The cell phone in his coat pocket rang out. He was sure it had to be Jack, or Bobby or Angel calling on Jack's phone. "You got that?" He gave Higgins' chest a nod and waited for Sofi to confirm she could continue the pressure against the wound before pulling his hands back. He backed out of the open car door and stood straight while reaching for his pocket. He realized he had blood on his hands, and the idea of grabbing his phone with bloody hands churned on his stomach. He instinctively whipped his hands down the legs of his pants. Hell, he had plenty of pants; he could trash the pair he was wearing.

Jerry didn't look at the phone before flipping it open to answer it, "Yeah." He tried to turn away from the wind, to keep the snow and sleet from blowing into his face.

"He's gone Jeremiah, he's not here." Camille's voice hit him unexpectedly as he turned again, fighting the wind that seemed to be picking up.

"What?" Confusion showed in the man's voice, he wasn't certain who his wife was talking about in that first instant. Johnny had told her he was leaving, but he'd be back as soon as he could. The reality sliced at his brain. "Craig?" He asked, sure that she was going to tell him no, not Craig.

"Well who else do you think I'd be calling you about?" Camille cried out. "When I came back in from the restroom he was gone."

"Okay Baby, just calm down. He might have gone down to the bar, why don't you look?" Jeremiah held his breath, waiting for a response from the other end of the line.

"I already checked. He's not downstairs. He's not here. His coat is gone." Camille cried out. "Do you think he'd go to the house? That's close enough, he could walk there."

"Yeah, he might, but I can't believe he'd just up and leave like that." Jeremiah barely got the words out. "Check downstairs again, please, for me."

"I told you, I already looked. He's not here Jeremiah. I tried to call Jack's phone but it went straight to voice mail. Have you talked to Bobby yet?" Camille asked.

"No, I haven't. I'll try to call him now. You wait for Johnny, don't leave that bar Camille, you hear me?" Jeremiah glanced over at Sofi and the relief he'd felt that Camille hadn't been in the middle of the mess there on the street seemed to weaken. His fears for her safety grew.

Camille hung up the phone without answering. "Damn!" Jerry quickly started punching buttons on his phone to get Jack's number. He knew his wife. She felt responsible for his little brother, and no matter what he said to her she was going to head straight to the house in search of his ass. He was going to have a few things to say to both of them; as soon as he was sure they were both safe and unharmed.

* * *

Camille pulled her coat on and flung the stairway door open. The presence standing before her was startled as badly as she was, though Johnny didn't scream out in the same fashion.

"Camille?" Johnny's surprised expression gave way to worry. "What's wrong?" He looked past the woman and seemed to take in the fact that there was no one else with her. "Where is Craig?"

"He left. I need to find him." Camille was still holding both of her hands over her chest. "I think he might have headed back to the house. He's scared, and he's confused…" She tried to hide the panic in her voice. "I went into the restroom to talk to Jeremiah on the phone, and when I came out he was…" Her words spilled out quickly.

"Okay, okay, I'll go look for him." Johnny held his hand out to her, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "It's going to be okay." Lines of worry seemed to crease his forehead instantly.

"I'm going with you." Camille's voice came out strong.

Johnny smiled. "Sweetheart, if I took you with me your husband would have my balls on a…." He stopped himself. "Uh, sorry, wrong choice of words to use in the presence of a lady. He'd kill me." He shook his head. "Besides, what if Craig comes back? You should be here in case he does."

Camille sighed. She knew it was a weak excuse for her to remain behind, Craig was not coming back on his own accord, but she could see the worry in Johnny's eyes. "You really do care about my husband's family, don't you?"

"Hell, I've known those boys since they was this high." Johnny held his hand up level with his own forehead and laughed at his joke. "If I'd had kids, I would like to think they would turn out as good at those boys did." His tone changed to a serious one as he drew in a deep breath. "Now you get your coat off and sit down over there and eat. I'll call you from my cell phone. Okay?" He turned and headed back down the stairs. "And lock that door, just to be safe."

Camille pushed the door closed and locked it. She wanted to go with Johnny, and had been determined to go, but his face held a kindness to it, and a wisdom that reminded her of someone else. She couldn't quite put a face to the feeling Johnny had given her, but one was there, just out of reach. Whatever it was it seemed to put her worries at rest. Someone was going to find Craig, and if it was Johnny it was going to be okay.

* * *

Craig pulled his coat around him and studied the sidewalk as his feet hit the snow and ice. The weather had gotten worse. The snow was turning to ice and his feet slipped around in the mess from time to time. His mind started pulling out memories of the last time he'd been out in the cold, moving through snow and ice. It had been at the burnt out farm house, his father had dragged him out of the basement and through what his hazy mind had pictured as wildernness. His body had gone numb, and his brain had relented to whatever his dad had in store for him. He had welcomed the idea of dying then. He had been sure he was going to die that day. The cold seemed to bring back the warmth and relief at the idea of finding some kind of end to his father's constant rage and anger.

If he had died that day he never would have had to deal with Jack lying to him, or the fears of not belonging or being a part of the only real family he'd ever known. He didn't want to die, that's not what he was craving deep inside. He wanted to feel like he was seven years old again, when the world offered something more to him than bad memories and feelings of being rejected and thrown away.

Evelyn had given him hope of a different kind of life. She had shown him there was something more to life than pain and fear. There was more to childhood than being too terrified to move or speak. He hadn't known life could be good, and once he'd experience that good part he didn't want to lose it. There had been a Santa Clause for him, at least for a couple of years, and someone had been happy that he'd been born, for the first time in his whole seven years of living. He yearned to feel that again.

Until Evelyn Mercer became his mother he hadn't known what it meant to be happy, or sad, or excited. He'd never been told that he was special and loved, he'd only been his father's toy, merchandise to be bought and used and beaten. He hadn't been a human being, he'd been an object. Not allowed to feel or play or show fear. He'd had to turn off everything inside of him. He hadn't let himself hold onto any desires. He hadn't let himself feel anything, and now he didn't seem to be able to do that.

He could remember wanting to cry when he was four years old and not daring to let himself. Those same tears, from ten years earlier were still there, under all of the other tears he'd held in over his life time, and they were struggling to burst free. He had cried so much over the past month and yet he hadn't emptied any of the tears he'd held prisoner from his early childhood and they were screaming at him to be let free. The hell he'd gone through in the years before he'd ever known about Evelyn Mercer, or her sons, or her home and the life she could offer him was still inside of him. The emotions implanted in him from the bath tub, the hitting, and the closets were all waiting to be set free.

The boy stopped walking as his mind replayed the last moments at the pond in front of him. The sound of his name floating around him on the wind seemed so real that he looked up and studied the street. It looked abandoned. There were no cars, no people. He was alone in the sleet and snow, but he could hear his name. He remembered turning and seeing two forms running towards him as his father dragged him down the dock, towards the icy water waiting at the end. He remembered the energy that had burst from inside of him at that moment. Bobby yelling at him to fight, coming for him, it all seemed so vivid at that moment. He had fought his father, he'd wanted to get away from him, and his prior submission had given way to the desire to escape him. He had never experienced that before that day.

Why was he so afraid of his brothers throwing him away? The thought struck him as if he'd been hit hard. They hadn't left him yet. They hadn't handed him back over to the state as soon as Evelyn's funeral was over. He'd been waiting on that to happen and it hadn't. He could hear Angel's voice in his mind when they'd found the bag he'd packed and hidden under his bed. "You aren't that ignorant. You know, you are our brother. You are stuck with us. You know that. Don't you?" Angel had sounded shocked at the idea that he had expected to be thrown back into the system.

His fears of what his brothers would think of him if they found out what had happened the night their mother was killed had been in vain as well. The fact that he hadn't done anything to help Evelyn, and the way Stanley had forced himself on him had haunted him. He'd been sure his brothers would hate him once they knew, but they hadn't. Every time he was certain his brothers would throw him away they had pulled him closer. His brothers had gotten him away from Sweet. They had come after him when his father had taken him. They hadn't done anything to make him feel the way he was feeling, so why did he feel it? Why did he expect the people he loved the most to not love him back?

It was as if a door had opened for him and he could see for the first time what was going on inside of his own head. The things his father had told him when he was so young, the hurtful, cruel words that had taught him to feel as if he was worthless unless he was making the man money. He was nothing, and no one else would ever care about him or want him. It was Adam Macks' voice in his head telling him that his brothers didn't want him, or care about him. It was the monster controlling him even now, when he wasn't there. The confusion that seemed to be clawing at him was the contradiction of his brother's actions, of Bobby's actions. Bobby had told him he was his kid.

Bobby was supposed to be his father. He'd been everything a real father was supposed to be. Craig knew that. Still, the label 'Father' confused him. The only father he'd ever known before was the monster, and at some point he expected Bobby to turn into that monster.

The wind picked up and whipped snow and ice into Craig's face. The boy turned away from it and started walking. He wasn't sure now where he was going. He wasn't thinking about home, his mind had found a focus, whether it was a good one or not made no difference. He needed to walk, and think, he was so close to understanding something, it was in his grasp, but not quite reachable; a half thought not yet completed.

* * *

Macks kept to the back alleys for a few blocks before he came to a residential area. He found a Cadillac parked on the curb of one street and walked around it, studying the shining chrome. Hell, he'd just subjected his self to a thrill ride in a Toyota, why not move up to something with a little more class. He was entitled to a little luxury; after all, he was dressing better than he had before. The Cadillac was an older model, but it looked sweet. He couldn't resist the buzz the opportunity offered him. The adrenaline was still pumping through his blood, and he needed a release.

He checked out the area, sure there was no one around to witness his crime, not that he really cared if he was spotted. Hell, what was stealing a car compared to gunning down people in the street? He felt a laugh tickle at his throat. His right elbow braced for the impact and then slammed into the driver's window glass. Minutes later he was laying in the seat of the car, finding the wires he needed to join in order to fire up the engine.

His mind focused on getting back to Jordan's house. He had to get his shit together and take care of business before the Mercers got a hold of their cop friend and the wreckage of the Toyota was traced back to the weak minded fool locked in the closet. He put the car in drive and tore away from the curb a little too fast.

"You're really going to kill him." Jones shook his head slowly. "You don't think he's been through enough?"

"He had his free ride, and now it's time for him to pay the price." Macks spoke quietly.

"He's a person Adam, just like you. You don't know what fear is, do you? You only feel one thing, anger. You feel it in your sleep, do you know that? You feel it in your dreams. Your good dreams are fiilled with nothing but anger and hate. You like to hurt people; it's the only thing that makes you happy." Jones' voice held pity that time.

"I said shut up!" Macks yelled out and let his left fist pound on the steering wheel. "Shut the fuck up!"

"You were hurt when you were young, right? Your father taught you how to hurt. He taught you the best way there is, by inflicting the pain on you." Jones laughed. "Hell, you used to pray to God every day of your life, and you would tell him that if he'd make it all end that you would never do anything like that to your own kid, now didn't you?"

Macks slammed on the brakes, bringing the big car to a sliding halt in the middle of the street. "I said shut up!" His hands pressed against his ears. "You don't know anything about it! You know nothing!"

"I'm in your head Adam, I know it all. I know what your father did to you, and how your mother blamed you for it. They punished you for your father's evil deeds, they told you it was your fault, and that you made him hurt you. You forced him to it." Jones' voice echoed inside the man's head, loud and strong. "Did your kid force you to hurt him? No, that wasn't what happened, was it? You enjoyed it. Every moment you forced yourself on him, controlled him, and manipulated him. You were like a god yourself, weren't you?"

"Stop it. Stop now." Macks could feel his teeth grinding hard as he slipped the words out.

"You felt like a god when you blew Lydia's brains out, didn't you? You love her, and killing her was your way of holding onto her. Isn't that right? If she left you, you would lose her completely. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, they were your security, and you aimed the gun right in between them." Jones continued taunting him. "I'm getting stronger in here Adam. You might want to consider listening to me. I can take control any time I want, but I don't want to fight with you. We should be a team. After all, we are both in here."

Macks stared straight ahead, watching the storm raging around him with snow and ice streaking past on the pounding wind. Jones started talking about a different plan, a different way of getting what he wanted. He needed to leave Jordan alive, and he needed to let Jones take control. He was about to reject the words of his alter ego, but Jones reminded him of the eyes he'd choked the life out of in Illinois. Donna. He had liked Donna as much as Jones had but hadn't been able look past those eyes. He had needed the life they held. Jones seemed to understand that. For the first time, someone seemed to understand him and as pissed as he was at Jones, he listened to the plan.


	76. Chapter 76

Thanks to all for reading :)

Do not own, make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 76: Yearning**

Bobby's drive back towards Dennis' business, Michigan Demolitions, was a slower, less dramatic trip. Jack surrendered his cell phone over to Angel, who was now talking to Green, telling him where the remains of a small Toyota coupe could be located. Bobby could hear Green's yells over the phone, even from the other side of the car. Angel pulled the device away from his ear a couple of times. "What the hell is wrong with you boys? You think you have a license to raise ten kinds of hell all over the streets of Detroit? It ain't like a fucking parking ticket; you got two men shot in the fucking street and one of them is a cop! Now you're telling me you got a wrecked up car sitting somewhere from a high speed chase that you never should have been involved with to start with? Shit, this wasn't what we discussed! Johnson should be at the scene with Jeremiah by now; you boys get your asses back there and give him everything you've got. I might be able to get this taken care of, but it looks like the Feds might be getting involved. They are still working the Macks case, so we just might be completely fucked!"

"You tell him that we weren't the ones who did the fucking shooting! And you tell him you got Higgins' confession recorded! And you tell him that Macks was chasing us when he wrecked his car! You tell him…." Bobby glanced over at Angel, his words aimed at Green came out harsh and loud; his anger was agitated by the sound of Green's voice. Hell, the cop was talking, not the friend, and he didn't like the sound of the cop's voice.

"You tell Bobby I already know all of that, I have talked to Jeremiah. That's not the point here. We gotta tread lightly around a few things. Dead bodies in the street is not treading lightly! You want to get Macks, not end up behind bars, and there is only so much I can do, especially from a fucking hospital bed!" Green's voice filled the interior of the car, loud and clear, obviously having heard Bobby's defensive outburst.

"You tell Green that we already know all of the shit he's sayin', but we had no control over what Macks did, we were defending ourselves. This is ain't our fucking game, it's Macks', I thought he knew that." Bobby shook his head.

"You tell him yourself. You're the one having the conversation with him." Angel held the phone out to Bobby after a moment.

Bobby pulled his right hand from the wheel and snatched the phone out of Angel's hand. "I'll tell him, I'll give him a fucking earful." He held the phone up to his ear. "Green, you knew this wasn't going to be pretty. Hell, we didn't expect this to go down the way it did either, but we got it under control." He snapped the words, though he didn't believe anything was under control. Nothing had gone as planned, but hell, he was good at winging it, and that's what they were going to do, they were going to work it out as they went along. Macks was going down before the end of the day, one way or another. There wasn't going to be any fucking arrest, the man was going to die.

He was met with silence on the other end of the phone. He scowled and pulled the phone away to look at the screen. "He hung up on me!" Bobby thrust the phone back to Angel. "What the hell?"

"I know he hung up. I just figured you needed to get that off your chest. Can we all stop arguing now? Let's just get back to Jeremiah." Angel took the phone and was about to pocket it when Jack's hand came through the seat. He sighed and dropped it into Jack's hand without saying another word.

Bobby shook his head and steered the car through the icy streets. The car fell silent, apparently neither of his brothers felt like talking at the moment. It seemed everything they had wanted to accomplish that day was being pulled out of reach, and he couldn't be the only one feeling it. He wondered what the hell else could go wrong.

Jack's phone rang out just as Bobby turned onto the street where their chase had begun. Police cruisers and ambulances had filled the empty street. "Jerry?" Jack spoke quickly. "We're right down the street." He sighed and seemed to be listening. Bobby flicked his gaze up to the rear view mirror to look at Jack's expression. He looked confused.

"What?" Bobby asked quickly as he pulled the car to a stop in the middle of the street.

Jack closed the phone. "He said he'd been trying to call, but he hung up when I told him we were here." Jack sat up in the seat and looked past Bobby to the activity in front of them. "Shit. Are we ready for this? I mean, how much are we supposed to say to them?" He looked nervous.

"We tell them the truth, and only as much of that as we need to." Angel opened his door and got out of the car.

Jack looked at Bobby. "Jerry said he's at his car. He needs to talk to us, it's important."

"Shit." Bobby got out of the car and waited for Jack before following Angel's path towards Jeremiah's car. One officer moved to stop their approach. After telling their names and showing identification all three were allowed to pass with no further questions.

Angel glanced back at the cop and then looked at Bobby. "That felt strange. Hell, he let us through like we were important, or something."

"I announced that you would be here any minute and you were to be allowed past the perimeter." A voice spoke from just to their left.

Bobby turned to find himself standing face to face with Johnson. "You're the officer in charge." He nodded his head. "You need statements from us?"

"I need to know what the hell happened here." Johnson sighed.

"Where's my brother?" Bobby asked quickly. "Where's Jerry?"

"I'm right here." Jeremiah walked up to them.

"Where the hell is Sofi?" Angel spoke up.

"She's fine. She's sitting in one of the cruisers, to stay warm." Jerry spoke calmly. "We got a problem though. I've been trying to call ya' all for a while now." He looked pissed.

"We were a little preoccupied Jerr', sorry for the inconvenience." Bobby shot back, irritated by the tone of Jeremiahs' words.

"We were talking to Green." Angel spoke up. "What's goin' on?"

"Craig." Jerry looked at Bobby. "He took off from Johnny's. I've talked to Camille a couple of times, Johnny is out looking for him now, he's gonna check out the house. "

"He took off?" Bobby felt his chest tighten. "I thought Johnny was gonna be keeping an eye on them?" He started to let his anger rise.

"Johnny had to run a quick errand. Camille was in the restroom talking to me on the phone and the kid took off." Jerry sighed.

"So he's out there alone, and Macks is out there too." Bobby's voice rose. "Son of a bitch" He turned to head back to his car.

"Bobby, we can't leave here yet. We need to give statements." Jeremiah spoke loud enough for Bobby to hear him.

"Fuck statements. I'll give a statement later, once all this shit is taken care of, for good." Bobby called back.

"Green advised me to take you with me, in my car." Johnson called out.

Bobby stopped in his tracks. His mind felt as if it were spinning. He turned slowly and looked at Johnson. "What, we're under arrest here? We didn't do this." He pointed to the dead body still visible blacktop. "I got a kid out on the fucking streets, I gotta find him. You think you can protect him Johnson? You don't know shit about what's goin' on here!" He should have known not to trust the cop in Green.

"No sir, no one is under arrest. I was instructed to assist you in finding the boy." Johnson spoke calmly.

Bobby opened his mouth, but then closed it and walked back towards Johnson. "That's more like it." He muttered.

Jeremiah looked at Angel. "Sofi can take my car and go to Johnny's." He offered. "We can meet her and Camille there once we find Craig."

Angel seemed to agree with the idea, but he still wanted to see Sofi before they left. Bobby looked at him. "You make it fuckin' quick." He warned.

While they waited in Johnson's car, Bobby listened while Jeremiah caught him up on what was happening. Higgins was alive, and while Bobby was indifferent to that fact, Jerry also added that Sofi had handed the recorder over to the cops and Johnson had listened to it. Johnson added that while the recording probably couldn't be used as evidence against Higgins, it would provide the proof they needed for searching out Macks, and to explain the actions of the Mercer brothers.

Bobby didn't give a shit, not at that moment. He could worry about the legal shit later. He needed to find his kid before Macks tracked him down somehow. Hell, if Craig went to the house, Macks could have already gotten to him. They had no way of knowing where Macks was at the moment.

* * *

Jones pulled the car into Jordan's garage and turned the engine off. His movements had a purpose. He left the garage door open; he wasn't going to be there long. He just needed enough time to gather some of his things, and Jordan. He concentrated on his belongings first, packing them up carefully, and putting them in the trunk of the car, leaving enough room on one side at Macks' request. He needed some place to stash the kid once he had him. Macks again had a request, this time for a good chug of whiskey, but Jones declined. "We need our wits about us." He shook his head and pulled the cigarettes out of his pocket. "Have a smoke instead." He allowed Macks to light up.

Jordan looked shaken when Jones pulled the closet door open. "Bradley, relax. We got work to do." He stepped back and allowed Jordan to crawl out of his confined space.

Jones freed the man's hands and allowed him to stand, though Macks suggested having some fun with him while he was still on his knees. "You fool, you have to keep the job at hand in focus, and that does not include your dick. Got that?" Jones turned away from Jordan as he scolded Macks.

"What?" Jordan sounded confused.

"Nothing, Bradley. Why don't you go get dressed? Put on some warm clothes, it is quite cold outside." Jones turned back to the man Macks had been holding prisoner. "Put on some warm boots too. You do have boots, don't you?"

"I have galoshes." Jordan muttered.

"You have galoshes?" Jones wanted to laugh. "Are they bright yellow galoshes?" He could picture Jordan wearing bright yellow or maybe even red galoshes up to his knees.

"No, they're black." Jordan seemed oblivious to the humorous side of his revelation. "My wife worried about keeping my feet dry. I catch cold quite easily." His voice seemed to grow quiet.

Jones felt for the man, he really did. He'd lost everything to Macks. His wife, his kids, his entire family disowned him because of what Macks had blackmailed him into doing. "Go find some warm clothes." Jones motioned for the man to leave the room.

Jordan nodded his head and walked through the door. Jones could hear the bedroom door closing. "You ruined that man's life." He spoke quietly to Macks, who drew deeply on the cigarette.

"I didn't make him touch the kid. He wanted him. He's spent his entire life hiding from what he is, and I just let him release it." Macks' voice sounded wicked, even to Jones.

"He was struggling to hold in his demons, and you forced him to release them. That was wrong Adam." Jones sighed. "You should have let him go after you were through with him; he didn't need or want to be dragged into this."

"What the fuck do you know?" Macks growled the words. "Stop preaching at me. I let you have your way, now just shut up and do the job." Macks was guiding him back towards the kitchen, and Jones knew what the man wanted. He wanted booze. He didn't seem to be able to function without liquor running through his veins.

"I need to keep my head on straight Adam, no booze. Not yet. You can drink an entire case of the shit later, but let me keep my brain sober." He spoke quickly as Macks moved to the cupboard to get a glass.

Macks stopped and pounded the countertop hard with both fists. "Just one drink, it won't hurt a damn thing."

"Yes, it will." Jones sighed. He didn't want to argue, he just wanted to take care of business.

Jordan walked into the kitchen a few moments later, wearing a bulky, multi colored sweater and black polyester slacks. His shiny black shoes looked new, but something from the seventies. His glasses were fixed on his face, but his head was hung low, causing them to slide down the bridge of his nose and he had to reach up and push them back into place. "My galoshes are in the garage." He muttered the words quietly.

Jones nodded his head. "Well, let's see what we can do about that thing on your leg." He pointed towards the man ankle. "How does that thing work?" He asked.

"It sends a signal to a box they have hooked up to the phone line." Jordan looked worried. "But if you take off the tracking device, it alerts the police."

"Well, if you're wearing it when we drive out of here they are going to know what direction we go, and we can't have that." Jones motioned for the man to walk ahead of him. "Show me the box." He ordered. Macks wanted to say more to the fool but Jones held him in, mentally telling him to stay out of the conversation.

"I can't leave the house. If you are going to kill me, you will have to do it right here." Jordan attempted to sound courageous in the face of death and the sincere look on his face tempted Macks to do the man in right there.

Jones fought down Macks' attempt to take over and choke the life out of the idiot in front of him. "You aren't going to die Jordan. Not yet anyway. Not at all if you just do what I tell you. Now, where is that box?"

Jordan turned and led Jones through the house to the living room. "An alarm will go off if you tamper with the box or the bracelet." He warned as he pointed to the box resting next to the cordless phone base. He sound worried. "Just leave me here. I can't do anything to help you."

"But you can. We are counting on the cops showing up here. That's all a part of the plan." Jones looked at Jordan while he picked the box up and studied it for a moment. He set it back in its place and looked at Jordan again. "Go get the knife so we can cut that thing off of you when the time comes. Bring paper and a pen too. You are going to write a letter and then we will be getting out of here."

Jordan hesitated, but followed his instructions without any further argument. Macks managed to let a laugh escape as Jordan left the room. Jones pushed him back. "Stop your shit Adam. This is going to lead us to your kid, and that's what you wanted, right?"

Macks stopped laughing. "Just remember one thing Jones, if this doesn't work, you dead." His voice sounded hauntingly wicked as he hissed the words out between the false teeth.

Jones realized both fists were clenching and he could feel Macks moving in to take control over their actions. "Back off Adam, you agreed to let me do this. Don't fuck it up now." He forced his fingers to stretched out and flex in an attempt to ease the tension in the muscles.

Jordan returned to the room with the knife and a paper tablet and ink pen. He gave Jones a strange look, as if he'd heard the words being exchanged with an invisible adversary.

Jones looked at Jordan and smiled. "Haven't you figured it out by now Bradley?" He asked quietly. "Macks is crazy, and I'm doing all I can to save your ass. Just do what we tell you and you will be fine." He felt his eyes narrow on the man.

Jordan nodded his head slowly, but didn't attempt to speak.

"Good. Now, this is what I want you write."He motioned to the paper.

Jordan quickly set the knife down on the stand holding the telephone and started writing down the words just as Jones dictated them to him.

* * *

Bobby sat up in his seat as Johnson pulled the car up to the stop sign at the cross street just across from the Mercer house. He felt relief fill his chest when he seen Johnny's car parked in front, sure that Johnny had caught up to his little brother. He pulled off his seat belt as Johnson eased up to the curb and parked the car. He barely noticed Jeremiah, Angel or Jack exiting the back seat as he got out of the car and headed towards the front door.

Johnny came out the door just as the brothers were about to climb the front steps. "He's not here." He shook his head, his eyes meeting Bobby's. "I'm sorry; I had to leave, just for a few minutes. I got back as quickly as I could, but…" He started to explain. "He couldn't have had that much of a lead on me, but I didn't see him the entire drive over here." He quickly decided to change his focus.

Bobby nodded his head, letting Johnny's words sink in. He reached up and gave Johnny a knowing pat on the arm. "It ain't your fault Johnny; I should have warned you he was liable to try something like this, but I didn't think he would." He felt a cold emptiness fill him. "Shit." He turned and looked up and down the street. "Where in the hell is he?" He mentally mapped out the possible places the kid could go. His mind started working instantly and he turned to his brothers. "We need to check the school yard. He likes the bridge too." He remembered the previous walks the kid had taken.

"Yeah, and he also likes just walking around in circles until he gets his ass lost." Jerry spoke slowly, reminding the elder that the kid had walked away from his house and wondered around aimlessly in the cold.

"He's in his own neighborhood, he knows these streets. He ain't gonna get his ass lost here." Bobby preferred not to think that the kid was in the same state of mind as he'd been the day he walked away from Jerry's house. The medication the doctor had him on was supposed to help guard against that.

"He also knows all the places to hide if he wants too. It ain't like it was when we were kids, things around here have changed." Angel countered. "He could be anywhere right now."

"He ain't hiding from no one, he's just scared." Jack spoke quietly. "I'm surprised he's not here. He would want to be where he felt safe, wouldn't he?" His confused expression matched the feeling in Bobby's gut.

Bobby nodded his head. "Ma's house, where he feels close to her, that's what I would have thought too Jackie." He muttered. He felt as if he were looking at a jigsaw puzzle, missing a piece, an important piece.

"Well let's start looking." Johnny started walking towards his car. "Who's riding with me?" He called out.

Bobby watched as his brothers started to follow Johnny towards his car. "Wait a fucking minute, one of you need to ride with me and the cop." Bobby called out as he turned back towards Johnson's car. The cop was standing next to it, his driver's door open. Bobby almost felt guilty for the way his statement sounded, almost.

Angel leaned close to Jack and said something quietly. Jack looked at Angel and shook his head. "You wouldn't." He challenged.

"Try me." Angel turned and continued walking to Johnny's car.

Jack looked pissed but turned towards Bobby. "Okay, I got a phone and Jerry has a phone. We can stay in contact with each other." He muttered as he walked past Bobby to the car.

Bobby watched Johnny drive down the street, and sighed as Johnson did a u-turn in the street and pointed the car in the opposite direction. "Where the hell are you goin?" He asked the officer in control of the car.

"You said the school, right?" Johnson asked.

"Yeah, I guess I did." Bobby muttered, not feeling all too secure riding in a cop's car. He didn't pay much attention to the Cadillac that passed them on the street. His mind was locked on one thing, and that was figuring out where Craig was.

* * *

Craig's legs continued to carry him while his mind fell into the past. His early years with his father and the later years living as a Mercer all seemed to meld together in an odd fashion. Part of his brain analyzed and dissected the seemingly illogical emotions that kept bombarding him, and then he would fall into the trap of feeling those emotions that he so desperately was trying to understand. He had no idea how long he'd been trudging along in the snow covered sidewalk, but his feet felt cold and wet. His pants were wet up to his ankles and he was shivering. He wasn't sure when he'd started to feel the cold, but his hands were shoved down into his pockets and holding his coat close around him. A yearning inside of him had been pulling him in a specific direction towards something he needed, though he hadn't been paying enough attention to expect what was there when he looked around the street. He recognized his surroundings, but he was nowhere near home. This wasn't what he'd planned. He had wanted to go home.

No, he'd wanted to feel safe. He'd wanted to feel his mother, feel the warmth and security she had offered him seven years earlier. His eyes focused on the cemetery across the street and he swallowed hard. What was it Bobby had said? He'd been to see Evelyn's grave, and he'd talked to her. He felt as if she could hear him, and it had made him feel better and closer to her. He asked her for advice and he thought she could hear him.

Tears fell down his cold cheeks, stinging against the sleet and snow that continued to blow into his face. He pulled his hands out of his pockets to wipe at them. He sniffed at the cold air and shuddered under the coat. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to do this. He hadn't wanted to go to the cemetery when Bobby had offered the idea to him before. There were too many things going through his mind at once, and the idea of talking to his mother seemed inviting. At the same time it would mean having to acknowledge the fact that she was buried in the ground, cold and alone. He felt his heart aching as that thought ran through his mind.

He remembered how it had all looked the day of the funeral. He had tried not to feel too much that day. He'd acted as normal as he could, but he hadn't felt normal. He'd held in most of his tears as he watched the casket lower into the ground, standing next to Jack, all the while blocking out the true meaning of the whole thing. The truth being that he hadn't done anything to help his mother, and now she was dead. He'd been afraid to face a life without his mother. How could anything in his life be good without her there to make it so?

His feet moved mechanically as the cemetery drew closer to him. He was moving towards it but couldn't think about what he was doing. He couldn't actually face what he was doing. Part of him wanted to turn away and go home, his intended destination when he'd left the room above Johnny's bar. Another part of him told him he had to let go of something before he could actually grab hold of the one thing he needed, the one thing that was real.

He didn't understand his own thoughts, they seemed random, but he felt there was a meaning behind them. How could seeing his mother's grave help him in any way? He walked through the rod iron gate and followed the drive, careful of the ice as the pavement moved downhill. He nearly fell twice before he moved into the grass, hoping for some traction. He didn't remember Evelyn's grave being so far back into the cemetery, but he hadn't paid that much attention the day of the service, he'd just followed his brothers. The effort was wearing him down, not just physically, but his brain was getting tired of the thought processes that were running rampant in his head. He felt confused, just as before, but the reasons for the confusion were different. He knew there was something else he should be worried about, but at the moment, the need to get to his mother's grave seemed to block out everything else.


	77. Chapter 77

As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think! :)

Don't own, make no money.

* * *

**Chapter 77: A Mother's Guidance**

The snow seemed to thin out, but the ice was still falling, beating down on his face. The clouds above the bare trees seemed to darken and felt ugly. He stood stock still, looking at the stone from twenty feet away. He couldn't make out the words, there was too much snow caked over the stone. As he slowly made his way closer the tears in his eyes blurred the world around him. He could picture her face in his mind, her smile, so inviting. He wanted to stop his forward motion; something about being there felt wrong, but the yearning inside of him pushed him on until he stood directly in front of the marker. He reached out with his bare hand and wiped the snow and ice away, revealing the name of his mother. He felt himself drop to his knees and the tears seemed to flow more freely. He sniffed hard and closed his eyes. "Mom, I miss you." He managed to choke out the words. He held his breath and listened to the wind whistling through the trees around him.

He was hoping to hear her voice on the wind, or feel her touch on his sleeve. Something, anything to prove to him that she could hear him and see him and knew he was there and that he needed her.

Nothing happened. He still felt as alone as he had when he'd run out of the Johnny's bar. Bobby said he'd felt as if she were there, and could hear him, but he felt nothing, only empty. The tears increased and he realized he never should have come. The only thing he could see and feel was a cold stone with a name, and it seemed wrong. His mother had been so much more to him than an adopted mother; she had been his only family, she had been his lifeline, and he felt as if he was going to drown without her. She had made him what he was, and had given him a real life. Without her, he knew he was going to lose everything that mattered. His father was going to take it away, and she was the only person who could stop him.

Craig leaned forward and rested his head against the cold stone. He closed his eyes and let himself cry. "Why can't I feel you? Bobby could feel you." He listened, straining his ears for something that sounded like his mother. It seemed he waited forever and nothing happened. "Bobby said I could come here and talk to you, that you could hear me and understand." He swallowed at his tears and pulled his coat harder around him. "I'm scared. What if they don't really want me? What if Bobby decides I'm too much trouble? He's didn't want to come back here and live, he only came back because you died." He went on, emptying out his fears and the tears that had built up deep inside.

Many layers of his soul had been peeled away over the past several weeks, and he now he felt as if he had been stripped of another coat of protection, releasing more than he'd been aware was inside of him. His words came out quickly in between his sobs, and he felt as if there was a release deep inside of him, the pressure finally pushing the tears that had been held in from so many years of living with the nightmare that was his life before his father killed his mother, an act that had ultimately freed Craig of his deadly hold, at least for a time. It felt as if his life began the night his real mother died, and now that his adopted mother was no longer there, it didn't seem there was any hope left of clinging to the new life he'd been shown.

He couldn't seem to keep his thoughts straight, he found his words rambling on as his mind swung from his fears about his brothers, to the terror he felt from his life with his father, to the confusion and anger that filled him when he thought about the lies that had been told to him by the only family he had left, and on to the trust that had been shattered with one over heard conversation.

After he'd emptied out the worst of the conflict that had been eating at him he fell silent, and listened to the wind. He mentally scolded himself for thinking that he could ever feel the comfort of his mother beyond the scent of her perfume which still hung in different parts of the house. She was dead and gone and he had to face what was ahead of him without her to guide him and explain to him what was happening.

As he opened his eyes and gave up on the hope of feeling the closeness to his mother that he was craving, a warm sensation washed over him. He was sure he could smell fresh cut flowers drifting past him. He looked around him, but there was nothing there, no one was close, and the sleet was still beating down around him, icing the monuments marking other graves. "Why can't I feel you?" He spoke quietly. "I just want to feel you." He closed his eyes again and remembered how he had fabricated the image of Bobby when he was trapped in the dark hole in the ground at the burned out farm in Ohio.

"I'm right here, Craig." The words were faint, but he was sure he could hear them. "You've felt me before and you didn't have to be here for that, now did you?"

Craig kept his eyes squeezed shut and allowed a picture to form in his mind. "That wasn't real. This isn't real." He shook his head, but he kept his eyes closed, willing to embrace the imaginary voice and feel of his mother rather than not experience anything of her at all.

"Craig, I'm with you every day. I like to think that I've left a little bit of myself in each of my sons." He was sure he could hear her smile as she spoke. "You can feel me when you're with your brothers, can't you?"

"It's not the same." Craig barely spoke the words. "It's not like having you here." He sniffed on more tears. "They lied to me." He spoke weakly. "They don't really want me."

"Now why would you say that?" Evelyn sounded surprised. "Is that what they told you? You know, you always expected the worst of a situation. I remember your first day of school. You thought you were going to be left with strangers and I would never come back for you. Do you remember that?"

Craig could feel himself falling into the conversation as if his mother were sitting right there next to him, with her arms around him. It felt almost real to him, almost as real as the imaginary Bobby he'd conjured up when he was locked in that cold, dark hole. He spilled his heart out to her, telling her how scared he was, and how his father had hurt him. He wanted it all to go away, and he wanted her back home. He wanted to go back in time to when he was small and she was there to take care of him.

Time seemed to stand still, and for a while the air around him felt warm. He was sure he could smell her, and feel her, and he felt safe.

* * *

Bobby hit at the passenger door in frustration. There was no sign of the kid at the school, Jerry had called and they hadn't found him anywhere near the bridge. They had spent the past twenty minutes driving up and down the streets.

Johnson had gotten on the police radio and broadcast a description over the air, so there were cops looking out for Craig, but there hadn't been any sign of hm.

"What if Macks made it to the house before Johnny got there and he found him?" Bobby spoke his fears out loud.

"There wasn't enough time for Macks to beat Johnny there. We know where Macks was." Jack spoke quickly, "And he didn't have a car the last time we seen him." He reminded.

Bobby knew Jack was right. "Well where in the hell is he then?"

The police radio crackled to life, and Johnson picked up the mike to respond. The dispatcher's voice coming over the air announced that Bradley Jordan had gone missing from his house.

"Missing from his house?" Johnson glanced over at Bobby and shook his head. "How long since he's been missing?" He asked the phantom voice.

"The signal has been distorted off and on most of the morning, and then it died. We figured it was the weather, and sent a squad over, but we didn't deem it as an emergency. When officers arrived they found Jordan's tracking bracelet had been cut off and left at the residence. We are unsure of how long he's been out of the house. Since his case is linked to yours we thought you might want to go over there, Sergeant."

Johnson sighed and looked over at Bobby. He keyed up the mike again. "Negative. We have a missing fourteen year old boy to locate."

There was a pause and then a response. "There was a letter left at Jordan residence, sir, it may be something you want to see."

Bobby felt his body tense up. "What the fuck did the letter say?" He asked, as if the dispatcher could hear him despite the fact the transmitter wasn't keyed for talking.

Johnson glanced at Bobby and then repeated the question over the radio. There was a long pause and then the response came back. "I know where the kid is, and I know he talked. I'm going after him."

Bobby shook his head. "Those are Macks' words, not Jordan's. Fuck." He sat back in the seat and looked around him on the street. He noticed a cross a top a steeple at a church up the street. It was lit up by a spot light against the black clouds rolling in. "That church." He pointed at it. "That's it." He prayed he was right as the puzzle piece he'd been missing slipped into place. "The cemetery, he went to the cemetery." His conversation with the kid in the car the day of the dreaded doctor's appointment replayed in his brain. "He went to Ma's grave." He turned in the seat and looked at Jack. "I told him once he could go there and talk to her."

Jack looked confused, "The cemetery?" He shook his head. "You don't really think he'd go there, not in this kind of weather."

"He's pissed at us, and we left him when he didn't want us to, yeah, I think he'd want to feel close to the one person he feels he can still trust." Bobby wasn't as certain as he sounded though. He found himself praying he was right as he turned back to look at that cross against the dark sky, and he realized that he seemed to be praying more lately than he ever had his entire life. He couldn't help but feel that cross was a sign from his mother, a way of her talking to him, and for once he was going to listen to the woman. "Jack you call Jerry and tell him to get his ass there." He glanced over at Johnson, mentally willing the cop to head the car in the direction of the cemetery.

Johnson nodded his head. "Which cemetery are we heading for?"

Bobby pointed which direction to go, "Church of Christ."

Johnson steered the car carefully. "You think the note is right? You think he knew where you took your brother?"

Bobby shook his head. "If he knew where I hid my little brother he never would have come after us." He was certain of that now. "Problem is my little brother ain't where I left him, now is he? He could already have found him on the fucking street for all I know." He felt pissed, and he wanted to break free from the cop and hunt down Macks on his own. He felt restrained under the watch full eye of Sgt. Johnson. Though he had to admit the man hadn't asked whether any of them were packin', and of course he was, and so was Angel. He was sure Jeremiah would still be carrying his piece unless Johnson liberated him of it before they got back to him. Either Johnson wasn't too bright or he didn't give a fuck if they were carrying. If he didn't give a shit about guns, then he wasn't gonna stop them from using them, that's the only way he could see it. He glanced over at the younger man.

He remembered talking to Johnson the day before, at the police station. Johnson had told him that he was close to Green, and he'd hinted that he knew enough about the case that he understood what was going on. Maybe he knew more than he'd let on. It was possible that Green had shared details with him before he landed in the hospital with a bullet. Hell, Green seemed to be full of surprises, so it was possible Johnson was one of them.

* * *

Jones pulled followed the unmarked police car at a safe distance. He was able to make the car out as a police vehicle, something Macks' knowledge helped him to determine. The emergency lights under the grill were easy to spot. Macks grumbled about the time it seemed to be taking to see the plan play out. He was too impatient, and his griping and complaining was wearing on Jones' composure. Jordan sat in the back seat, hunkered down as if he were afraid of being seen. Jones was starting to feel a little irritated at Bradley Jordan as well. Perhaps because Macks was weakening his resolve, or maybe he was just seeing more of a side of Jordan that Macks always talked about. He couldn't understand how the man could be so weak inside. He was weak minded and weak willed. Macks wasn't helping the situation, talking constantly about how Jordan had gotten what he had always wanted but had been too fucking scared to go after himself. He was afraid of what he was, and if he had only faced the truth in his youth he would never have turned into the pervert that he'd become. He had made himself what he was rather than allowing nature to take its course and become who he should have been.

As warped as Macks was, it did make sense to Jones. Jeff Jones had felt pity for the man and had blamed Macks for causing him to flounder and lose the stability that his family had offered him. Macks' words were starting to sink in. Jordan had wanted to have his way with Macks' kid. He had not been forced into that. Granted, Macks had offered the boy to him, had tempted him with talk about how good it could feel, and no one would have to know about it. But Jordan had savored the entire experience and drank in the soothing effects of acting out on his fantasies.

Jones' pity for the man was wearing thin, and the desire to see him live through the day was fading drastically with each minute he spent confined in the small space of the car with him. Jordan had complained that his piece of shit car was missing from the garage, and had somehow been replaced by a Cadillac that he was certain was stolen. Of course it was stolen, how the hell did the fool think it had gotten into his garage? He had wanted Jordan to drive, but it was obvious that the man couldn't control the boat of a car that had been placed in his hands. He was weak willed and weak minded. He wasn't able to adapt and grow with his experiences and that part of him expanded to the physical world around him. He hadn't been able to control the car because he was unfamiliar with the feel of it. Jones had made him get into the back seat after only traveling half a block from the house.

Jordan had been told to stay quiet and still, but the man continued his whining and complaining the entire drive towards the Mercer house. He complained that the cops were going to be looking for him, and accusing him of going after the Mercer boy, looking to throw more charges at him and he hadn't done anything, he was a victim. He was going to be in more trouble than ever, and it was all Macks' fault. He didn't understand why he just didn't kill him and get it over with, and yet the idiot kept doing what he was told. Jones was starting to understand how Macks could lose his patience with the fucker so quickly. He was starting to see a pattern where Jordan was concerned. He watched the man in the rearview mirror while he carried on various mental discussions with Macks. He noticed that Jordan grew strangely quiet when they pulled up next to cars, particularly cars with small children in the back seat. He could see something spark in the man's eyes and he knew then. Macks may have unleashed something that was uncontrollable; maybe he should have let Macks kill the disease growing inside of Jordan before it turned into something more.

There had been a mental battle of wits between Macks and Jones when the cars pulled away from the Mercer house. Macks was sure the kid was inside and wanted to go in and look. Jones argued that the kid never would have been left at the house alone and defenseless. He was sure one of the two cars would lead them to the kid. Surely the fact that Jordan was no longer confined to his depressing, lifeless home had been discovered by now, along with the threat that had been left behind for the cops to find. The Mercers were going to want to check on the kid, where ever they had stashed him. The only real challenge had been to determine which car to follow. The unmarked police car, which was easy to spot, though questionable how the Mercer's managed to have such deep connections to the police, or the other car, the older sedan spotted with rust and wear from years of use. Macks hadn't cared which car they followed, he was pissed that Jones wouldn't let them check out the house before moving on. Jones had weighed his choices and vied for the cop car carrying Bobby Mercer.

Bobby Mercer would be the one to go to the kid. He was the oldest, he was the fucking control freak, and he couldn't surrender that position and allow anyone else to do what he felt he was responsible to do. He could remember the look on the man's face when he'd chased Macks down at the pond. He had the look of a parent protecting their child. Macks was too blind t see it, too full of his self to look beyond what the information his eyes took in and put a real meaning to it. Jones had been analyzing his hosts' memories while he was trapped in his head, watching him screw everything up. He had to look into Macks' past to know what had made him so fucking crazy. It had been the only way to draw the strength he needed to take control. Macks didn't like it, but he would appreciate the importance of it later.

Right now, Jones was certain his plan was going to work. They only needed to remain calm and patient and keep the tail on the car. They drove by a school, and up and down streets. Macks laughed. "Shit, are they are looking for someone."

Jones was surprised to find that he agreed with Macks. The Mercers were looking for someone. "You think maybe they don't know where the kid is?" He asked quietly.

"What are you talking about?" Jordan spoke from the back seat.

"Nothing for you to worry about Bradley, just keep quiet so I can think." He muttered while he steered the car along the street. They seemed to be driving aimlessly, up and down streets at a speed slower than the normal flow of traffic.

"They don't know where the kid is. They are looking for him." Mack smiled.

"It looks that way." Jones found it hard to agree with Macks so easily. He nodded his head. "So why would they not know where the boy is?" It was a question he didn't need to know the answer to, but it was interesting.

Macks felt a thrill swelling up inside of him at the idea of being so close to locating his boy. He had a chance of finding him before the Mercers, and Jones could feel the adrenaline rush his counterpart was experiencing. "Relax Adam. It's better my way. Let them lead us to him. We need to stick with them. It's the only way we can get them all together and remove the threat of the Mercers coming back for the boy." Jones tried to remain calm despite the rise in Macks' heart rate.

The car they had been following picked up speed and maneuvered as if there it had a destination to reach. Instead of turning up and down streets it was moving in and out of traffic. Something must have happened inside that car to make the occupants believe they needed to be somewhere. Jones kept the vehicle in sight, but still managed to stay back enough that they wouldn't be seen, despite Macks' mental cursing that they weren't moving in closer for fear of losing them.

He didn't expect the follow the car around a right hand corner and then into a cemetery. Macks was thrilled with the location. "This is where the old bitch was buried. The kid must of have taken off to visit her grave. Hell, if he's here, this is going to be easy." He laughed.

Jones slowed the car down. "Do you know where she's buried?" He asked Macks.

"Where who's buried," Jordan spoke from the back seat.

"When I'm talking to you Bradley, I will use your name." Jones followed the car a little further while Macks' memories of watching the grave side service from a distance came to him. He stopped in the ice and checked the gun in his belt. "Jordan, you follow the car. When they stop, I have specific instructions for what you are to do." He turned and looked at the man. Hell this was going to be too fucking easy. Macks was going to owe him big for this one.


	78. Chapter 78

Almost there, I promise :) Let me know what you think!

Legal stuff still count.

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* * *

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**Chapter 78: Shattered Peace**

Macks watched as Jordan drove on down the drive, creeping along like a fucking ninety year old behind the wheel of the car. "What the fuck is wrong with you Jones, we need to stick with them in the car."

"You know where the old lady was buried, Macks, now just shut up and let's get moving. They are going to have to follow the drive around the whole place until they reach the grave. We can take a straight shot across on foot and get there before they do." Jones started walking at a quick pace. He slid once on the pavement, but once he was into the ice crusted cover just to the side of the drive his footing was much easier held. "Get your gun out and get it ready my friend, you are about to have your boy back. What you decide to do with him after that is all up to you." Jones managed to laugh, proud of himself for his plan working out better than he had expected. His legs found energy that he didn't expect while Macks pulled the gun out of his belt. He was able to run between the older markers close to the front of the cemetery. Statues of angels and crosses marked some, but most were flat, and coated with snow. He reached a line of tall, thick evergreens about the time the sound of another car engine grew intense behind him. He didn't turn to look until he was behind one of the trees. The other car that had pulled away from the Mercer house thirty minutes earlier was easing its way along the slick driveway. Hell, he should have known to expect the other car; the rest of the problem was solving its self. With all of the Mercers in one place he would be able to get rid of the entire bunch, but Jordan was going to have his hands full for a few minutes. He turned and continued his run, despite his lungs protesting against the strain. He really had to find a way of convincing Macks to quit smoking.

Bobby felt his heart rate pick up as they rounded curves and crept along at a snail's pace. "What the hell Johnson, can't you put a little pedal to the fucking thing?" He cried out.

"The drive is a solid sheet of ice. If I give it too much we are going to end off over the side." Johnson sounded calm as he gave the side of the drive a quick nod. The lay of the ground rolled downward from the drive. Bobby was aware of this fact. The drive seemed to wind around the edge of the cemetery, with the grounds emptying out into what looked like a bowl below them. He tried to peer between the trees towards the back of the cemetery, where his mother had been laid to rest, though he knew that the plot could not be seen from their position. He sighed, squinting against the pounding ice slicing through the center of his vision. He was sure he seen some sort of movement in the trees, but his mind explained it away logically. The weather was playing tricks on his eyes.

"What the hell was that?" Jack spoke a little louder than he needed to. "Someone is down there. Do you think that's Craig?"

The alarms went off in Bobby's brain. The figure he'd been trying to reason away had been too tall to be Craig. "Stop the fucking car!" He called out while reaching to unfasten his seatbelt. He grabbed for the door handle and was exiting while Johnson was still applying pressure to the breaks. His feet hit the ice beneath him and slid around while trying to propel forward towards the hill at the edge of the drive. His mind seemed to be shouting to him, but in reality he was shouting out loud. "The son of a bitch was following us again!" He had barely reached the edge of the drive when he heard the sound of another car's engine revving loud. He glanced over his shoulder as he hit the downward slope. Jack was just behind him, following his lead, but a flash of dark blue and glinting chrome was coming towards them at a high rate of speed. The Cadillac slid to one side, hitting the stone wall that lined the opposite lip of the ice coated blacktop; the sickening sound of metal grinding against rock filled the air just before the front end of the luxury car ricocheted back into the tail end of Johnson's car. The impact swung the police car towards the two Mercers. Bobby managed to reach back and grab onto Jack's coat sleeve with a quick motion, and dove into him, propelling both of their bodies to the hard, compacted snow below.

The world seemed to roll around Bobby, first he could see Jack's face, his eyes squeezed closed, and then solid white, followed by the beige paint of the sedan they had just jumped out of. The grey sky swirled past, and then Jack's face again, this time his eyes wide open, a yell emanating from his throat as the sound of steel cutting through steel closed in from behind.

Bobby reached out with his arms and managed to grab hold of the leather coat around Jack, pulling his body's roll to the side, as the cars slipped past them, the Cadillac still gunning towards the sedan Johnson was struggling to keep upright as it bounced onto the two tires on the passenger's' side, and back to the two wheels opposite of them, the motion rocking the body wildly as it slid between two rows of stone markers, rutting up the ground with each impact with a force that flung snow, ice, dead grass and dark, wet dirt into the air. Somewhere in the midst of it all Bobby was sure he saw the old Ford Johnny had loved on for years streak past on the drive, sliding in a dangerously fashion.

Bobby's back slammed hard into something solid, bringing him to a dead halt; the impact brought on a bombardment of sparkles behind his eye lids, which made him realize his eyes had volunteered to close on him as some point after grabbing hold of Jack.

In less than an instant after Bobby's mind comprehended he'd closed his eyes a force hurtled into him from the front, pushing the air from his lungs with a loud 'harrumph', which was echoed by a separate source almost instantly. He opened his eyes to find Jack staring back at him with wide eyes. "Get the fuck off of me!" Bobby gasped as his lungs sucked in a long breath. He slapped at Jack once and then pushed him away hard while he sat himself up, moved to his feet and started running in the direction of his mother's grave.

The cars were still moving through the grounds, skidding side to side between the stones, the Cadillac close on the tail end of the sedan. "Come on Jack, move your ass!" Bobby yelled out without looking back. He could barely make out the sounds of Jack's huffing behind him. He would have to mention to his little brother that now would be a good time to consider quitting smoking.

Above them, still moving along the slick blacktop was Johnny's car, going too fast and barely under control on the ice. Bobby pushed through the first line of trees, and into the second section of the grounds. His feet made contact with one of the three side paved trails that sliced the length of the cemetery. His boots slid around on him but he continued moving forward. His advance was increased when Jack ran into his back, both of them sliding across as if they were on skates. Once they reached the other side their pace picked back up, leaving the car chase behind them.

"Craig!" Bobby yelled out as loud as he could, despite the fact that neither the grave nor his brother was in sight. He hoped the sound of his voice would alert the teen to the approaching danger, if he was indeed there. His mind clung onto the possibility that he might have been full of shit when he thought Craig would be stupid enough to trudge through an ice storm to talk to their mother's grave, but deep down he still felt his brother was there, a target out in the open. Maybe Craig had found refuge in a dinner somewhere and this mad race to reach him was in vain, but his instincts told him otherwise.

* * *

Jeremiah sat in the front seat with Johnny, and Angel was more than happy to stretch out in the back seat of the Taurus, though it was a bit cramped compared to Bobby's Cutlass. He had been surprised by the phone call from Jack telling them to head to the cemetery, but it seemed they had looked everywhere they could think of for the kid, and maybe it wasn't so far out there that he would head to their mother's grave. Hell, Angel had snuck off to the plot to talk to the woman a couple of times, not that he'd admit that fact to any of his brothers. He had found a little peace, saying goodbye to her in the quiet of the snow cover. He had missed her funeral, and that was something he was going to have to live with for the rest of his life. He had missed the opportunity to bid farewell to the only adult who had ever bothered with him and his life, but he felt she knew he was there now, and he knew that she would have understood and forgiven him. Hell, that's what made her the perfect mother, understanding her boys and forgiving the shit they pulled on her.

Johnny talked quietly with Jeremiah as he drove through the streets, closing in on the cemetery. The two of them seemed to be enjoying a stroll down memory lane. Johnny remarked to Jerry that he'd always thought of him as a son, just like Bobby. He glanced back at Angel and let a small smile escape. "You weren't nearly as much fun as your brothers." He spoke quietly. "But you had your moments." He turned back to watch the street in front of him.

Angel grinned as he remembered his years spent in Johnny's bar. He nodded his head and sighed. "Yeah, I guess I did, didn't I?" He let the memories float around him. The late nights spent with Sofi above the bar, so that his mother wouldn't find out he was spending so much time with her. He could still remember Evelyn's words when she did find out about his relationship with Sofi. "If you love Sofi, then you need to get some of that wild side out of you Angel. You need to get your shit together and have some kind of life to offer that girl before you get that serious. You're going to do what you want to do, I can't stop that. But I don't want your first child to feel like a burden to you Angel. I want you to see it as the miracle it is, and if it happens before you are ready, you will miss that."

She had been right. He had joined the Marines a few months after that talk. It had been a means to an end. It got him away from the streets and most of his old contacts. It also got him away from some of the trouble he'd managed to get into. It gave him a chance to shoot big guns, wear a uniform and feel like his life meant something. He understood what Evelyn had been trying to tell him, now. He appreciated what he had with Sofi, even if his brothers didn't understand it, and he had managed to tame something inside of him by learning he could be something more than a con artist and thief. He would never lose his smarts about him, but he figured he would need the smarts if he was going to raise any children in Detroit. And he knew that when he did have children he would be able to see the miracle that they were and never regret the decisions he'd made to get him where he was today.

Johnny pulled the Ford into the cemetery and the front end slid slightly. "Shit, they haven't been out here to treat the driveway yet." Johnny muttered as he eased off the gas and slowed down. "Gotta watch this thing on ice, it doesn't handle the best." He grumbled. "I keep saying that one day I'm gonna be able to buy myself a real car. Hell this old thing has just about seen its last mile. But for all the bother she offers, she's seen me through some tough times."

"Well, watch it, some fool decided to stop in the middle of the road up here." Jeremiah pointed ahead.

Angel leaned forward to look at the Cadillac ahead. One man was getting out of the back seat, and one stretched his way out of the driver's door. There was still a good distance between them, and the details of the men weren't clear. He watched as the man from the back seat slid into the driver's seat, and the other started walking around the car, moving towards the isles of marble and granite shrines, some plain, with flat surfaces and straight lines, others sleek with curves. As plain as they all seemed they all held a unique quality, with different shades of grey, black or white. At first Angel thought someone had come out to pay their respects to a loved one, caring enough to subject their selves to the miserable weather that had unleashed over the city.

As Johnny crept closer, Angel could see the form moving through the tombstones a little more clearly, the walk, the stride of his steps and the size of the body all screamed out at Angel with a deafening silence. "Fuck, that's Macks!" He called out before he was really sure. He could feel it. "The ass hole must have been following Johnson's car."

Jeremiah leaned forward in his seat. "That is him. Shit!" He reached across and slapped at Johnny's arm. "Johnny, now would be the time to see just how fucking bad this piece of shit really runs on ice!"

Johnny was already increasing his speed at the Cadillac pulled back onto the road, driving at a higher rate of speed than Johnny.

"You gotta catch up to that fucker." Jeremiah called out.

"Who the hell is driving that car?" Johnny asked. "You never said he had someone working with him."

"Jack said Jordan was missing, right? It's probably him." Angel's remark was aimed at Jeremiah, who had spoken to Jack when the call came through.

"Yeah, it's my guess that's the son of a bitch driving that car." Jeremiah nodded his head. "Maybe they done found Craig." He seemed to be trying to find something to hope for.

"And maybe they haven't gotten there yet and have no fucking idea Macks is here." Angel spoke quickly.

Jeremiah pulled his phone out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? We don't have time to call them!" Angel reached up and smacked the back of Jerry's head. "Come on Johnny, drive like you fuckin' know what you're doing!" He knew Johnny could drive better than this. He knew the man wasn't afraid of crashing his damn car and he definitely knew how to handle one. "You're driving like an old lady. I take that back, my Mom never drove this bad!"

Johnny growled loudly. "You should have more respect for your elders Angel Mercer!" His foot stomped down on the gas and the Taurus lurched forward. Angel was thrown back into his seat. "That's more like it, hell you had me thinking you lost your fucking touch Johnny G." He called out as he turned and looked out the window next to him, to Mack, moving into the trees. He could see Macks turn and look back, but he didn't linger long before disappearing from view.

Angle pulled his self back up to look between the bucket seats. The Cadillac rounded a curve and was hidden by trees momentarily. The Taurus was still picking up speed, though Johnny was struggling to hold what little control the car allowed him. They cleared the same curve the Cadillac had rounded moments before, just in time to see the dark blue luxury boat taking aim at Johnson's unmarked police vehicle. Bobby and Jack were both bailing, and Angel prayed it meant they had noticed Macks running through the trees in the direction of their mother's final resting place.

Johnny seemed to pick up some speed. "Shit, I can't catch up to him, he's gonna kill them!" He cried out.

Angel shook his head. "Move your ass Johnson, move your ass." He barely got the words out though his mind was screaming them over and over.

The occupants in Johnny's car watched as the scene played out in front of them. The Cadillac rammed Johnson's car, running it off the paved lane and sending it towards Bobby and Jack, who were rolling down the snow crusted hill below. Angel almost couldn't believe his eyes when both of his brothers managed to roll out of the way of the oncoming cars. He almost yelled for Johnny stop, but held back on the impulse. They needed to get to Craig. If Bobby or Jack couldn't get to Macks on foot, they had to be sure to meet up with him before he could reach Craig, and at that moment the only way for them to get there was in the car. Johnny hadn't hit the brakes, he seemed determined to follow the drive on around to the back end of the cemetery.

Jeremiah was yelling something from the front of the car, but Angel didn't seem to be able to hear it. He turned in the seat and looked out the back window in time to see Bobby and Jack on their feet again, running across graves, and leaving Johnson to deal with the man assumed to be Jordan.

* * *

Craig shoved his hands into his pockets and realized he was shivering. His mind had been lost in unloading his soul and he had no idea how long he'd been there. He looked at the grave markers surrounding him. Some still held flowers resting on them, left by family who felt emptiness inside, just like him. He wondered how many of the people leaving flowers bothered to talk to the loved ones they missed so much. How many of them really missed the family member or friend buried beneath them and how many were merely following social protocol, leaving flowers because they felt it was expected of them. He turned back to look at his mother's name, engraved forever in the gray granite next to him. He hadn't brought her flowers or come to see her grave once over the past month, until now, and the force that had drove him there was not of of paying respect, but of needing to connect to her. Was he being disrespectful? He didn't mean to be. He missed her, and he hadn't considered that bringing flowers could really mean anything. He felt so many things inside, and so much had happened. His mind was still trying to spin around on him, falling into that black pit that he'd been struggling against, but he felt calmer. He felt as if he's released something. He didn't feel so afraid, and that had to be a good thing.

"Just wait 'till you go home, Bobby won't think it's such a good thing." He muttered to himself as he realized he was going to have to face his brothers. That thought seemed to spark a new fear, "He's going to be pissed." He forced his legs to straighten under him, lifting himself off the cold ground. "Of course, by the time you get home, you're going to be popsicle, so maybe he won't get too upset, at least not until you thaw out." He made the attempt to give himself some kind of hope.

He was trying to find a way to joke with himself about the whole mess he'd made. He had left Johnny's, and he didn't regret it, but he knew it hadn't been wise. Wise just hadn't fit into anything he was feeling at the time. He was still feeling most of the emotions that had driven him to seek out comfort from his mother, but somehow they didn't seem as strong. Of course there was no one else around to stir them around either. He drew in a deep breath and looked back in the direction he thought he'd traveled when he first arrived. His memory of walking through the cemetery seemed vague to him, just bits and pieces came through with any kind of clarity. He knew he couldn't stay there any longer; he was wet, and cold and shivering. He had to start moving and he had to head home, or back to Johnny's. He wasn't sure if he could bring himself to face anyone else just yet, and home seemed much more inviting.

Craig turned towards the drive and knew that it was going to be a nightmare trying to walk it all of the way out to the street. He turned back to head across the grass, which would offer him a quicker route. The man standing at the edge of the trees met his gaze and a smile creased across his face. Craig felt his body go stiff. He couldn't move his legs, or turn away.

Adam Macks started walking towards him, his steps seemed steady. He was holding a gun in his right hand, but he wasn't pointing it at him. Craig felt his left foot step backwards, and then his right. He wasn't thinking about running, or backing away from his father, his legs were doing it on their own while his mind spun back in time, flashing images of the pond, and the farm house. The tiny closet where he had felt the bugs crawling on him, and the way his father had reminded him of what and who he was. The bath tub and water and drowning; the feel of the man on him, his skin crawling with disgust, it all washed over him in an instant.

A quiet whine escaped his throat. He was alone. His brothers didn't know where to find him, and even if they did he still doubted they would care enough to stop his father from whatever plans he had made for him.

It never crossed his mind to wonder how his father had found him there; it never occurred to him that if Adam Macks could find him, then his brothers could do the same. It felt as if fate had spoken, and he was doomed to be sucked back into the nightmare he'd been so desperately trying to escape. The monster was moving closer to him, despite his backwards motion.

"Craig!" He heard his name, but it didn't register. His brain was falling into a grey haze, swirling around him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the monster closing in on him. He managed to find comfort of some kind from his mother's memory, and now he was trapped there, with her. There was no way he could run in the ice, and he was so cold that he couldn't feel most of his body.

The past few days, the time he'd spent with his brothers seemed to flash in front of him. He had been happy a few times, really happy, and he knew that he was never going to feel that way again. Playing street hockey with his brothers in front of the house, the food fight in the kitchen, Bobby shouting out instructions while Jerry, Angel, Jack and Craig ended up coated with goo, even playing with Bobby when he was supposed to be standing in the corner, testing how far Bobby would let him push him, they would be the last happy memories he'd ever have. He knew that. Tears streamed down his numb face. He took another step back, but realized his father was standing directly in front of him now. He looked up into the strange eyes that were so familiar.

His father flashed that same smile he always did when he was about to inflict pain, and the sick feeling swelled in the boy's stomach.

"Now, son, you've been a very bad boy." Macks' voice sent a chill down Craig's back. "You know, I am going to have to punish you." His hand reached out to encircle around Craig's throat with a quick motion. "You will learn to listen to your father, and you will remember who the fuck you are."

Craig felt his head spinning, fear mixing with the sick feeling being around his father always brought on. He felt dirty just from the man's touch. "Dad, I'm sorry." He choked out the words, hoping to pacify the man's dangerous temper.

"No, not yet you aren't." Adam released his hold, but the hand drew back. Craig braced for the strike, ready for what was about to happen. His mind screamed at him that if he'd stayed at Johnny's bar this never would have happened. This was the reason his brothers didn't want him around, he always screwed up. He wasn't good enough. They didn't want him around because he wasn't smart enough to keep his self out of this kind of trouble and he deserved whatever his father did to him.

The back of the hand was swinging down towards him and his mind drank in the scene and it ran similar pictures in front of his eyes as the memories of his father's beatings came back to him, like a movie playing in fast forward in his head. He'd been struck down by his father too many times to count, each bruise and gash that he'd been left with seemed to ache at that moment, and the fear grew inside to an intensity that was nearly unbearable. The instructions his brothers had given him out on the ice just a few days earlier came back to him like an explosion inside. A switch flipped in his brain and the fear rolled over to anger, white hot behind his eyes. No, he wasn't going to let the son of a bitch touch him, not again.


	79. Chapter 79

Let me know what you think. I wanted this one to be longer, but time won't allow it tonight, sorry. Look on the bright side, that leaves more for tomorrow :) And thanks to everyone for the reviews!

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 79: Inner Strength**

The air seemed to stand still around him. The wind fell silent. It wasn't a normal quiet of a relaxed feeling that draped around him. It was a heavy, thick, dead silence. His own sobs had ceased against the sheets of ice cutting into him. He felt his body swerve backwards to avoid the onslaught of his father's rage, and he succeeded. It took a moment for him to comprehend that the back of his father's hand had not clubbed him, but had swung through the sleet, past him, nearly spinning the man around from the force that had been put into it.

Craig looked up and met the gaze burning through him from Adam Macks. "No." He felt the word slip past his tongue, felt his mouth move, but he didn't hear it. He could see it though, a black mist rising from inside of him and surrounding his father. No, Adam Macks was not going to touch him, not without a fight. His days of cowering under his father were in the past, and he was never going to return to that kind of life again. The fear that had held him prisoner to the man's words for so many years no longer had a grip on him. He had something else to believe in now; he didn't have to believe what Adam Macks told him.

Adam's face showed the anger that was building inside. The man didn't like hearing the word directed at him, or the defiance that was being shown by his own son. Craig knew that, it had been one of his earlier lessons in life, you didn't tell his father 'no' and you didn't show any kind of strength around him. The boy didn't care at that moment. Pissing Adam Macks off felt good.

He was not going to fall back into that pit and let the monster turn him into something he was ashamed of. He'd been fighting too hard to free himself of the memories and the pain, now it was time for him to really fight. He had to face what frightened him most, and that monster was looming over him, ready to strike again. He wasn't going to give up so easily this time and slink back into a corner, allowing Adam Macks to violate and humiliate him.

"You fucking brat!" Adam yelled the words, though Craig couldn't hear them, he could only see the red sparks that surrounded them both as the words filled the air. Craig could barely make out the veins rising in Adam's neck and forehead through the sparks floating around him. He ducked the fist that came at him and barreled his body straight into the man's gut with all the force he could summon from deep inside. He screamed out as he moved, but was surprised when Adam's body gave way and fell. His own momentum was too strong to stop before he fell on top of him. He barely noticed the gun fall from Adam's hand and spin across the coating of ice, the black steel finding no friction to slow it down. It was out of Adam's reach in seconds.

Some how knowing that his father was no longer armed released any caution he'd been holding onto and his fists started pounding into the flesh under him, his mind whirling around with visions of all the times Adam Macks had held him down, turning him into nothing more than a plaything to be probed and molested. His eyes were squeezed shut; the memories burned the images on the back of his eyelids. He felt all of the anger that had been focused on Bobby for so long divert to the man under him and he knew that it had always been his father he'd wanted to direct the rage at, not Bobby. He emptied it out with each crunch of bone against bone. He didn't know what parts of Adam's body we was lashing out at, but it felt as if his soul had been liberated, and he was no longer a prisoner to his past.

He felt a hand wrap around his throat and his instincts told him to pull back. He dove to one side before the grip his father was trying to take on him could take hold. He felt his legs kicking against the ice crusted snow as he scrambled to get his footing and run.

"You get your ass back here boy!" Adam yelled out the words but to Craig they sounded distant and faint. Despite the distortion the boy couldn't help but feel his father's voice hadn't changed, no matter how different he may have looked on the outside.

Hands grabbed at him, and then a crushing pressure thrust down on his back, burying him in the snow and mush just beneath the layer of ice covering the ground. He screamed out again and tried to kick or hit, but he was being held down from behind, with no way of fighting back. The lessons on the ice came back to him and he calmed himself down enough to force his body to lean slightly to his right. He drew his left arm up and thrust the elbow backwards, sinking it deep into Adam's gut.

"You shit!" Adam moaned out the words as his body pulled away.

Craig scrambled out from under the man and managed to move several feet, in the direction of the hand gun resting on top of the snow. He reached for it but just as his fingers barely touched the grip a boulder rammed him from behind again, this time he felt his body spin on him as he went down. He landed hard on his back with Adam on top of him. He screamed out and struggled to free himself a second time, but Adam started landing blows with both fists, his face a bright red from the anger burning through. Craig blocked as many of the strikes as he could, but he knew it was a losing battle. He didn't feel the pain, but he knew it was going to hurt later.

It was pissing him off more than frightening him. The next punch coming down on him seemed to spark a desire to make Adam feel pain as well. His hands grabbed hold of Adams' left arm and he raised his head up just enough to clasp his teeth around the side of the wrist in his grips. His jaw tightened with all the energy that he could force into it. He felt the skin break, and the warmth of blood running down the side of his face.

Adam's screams seemed to fill the silence that had previously been smothering him. He put more pressure on the bite, the tendons ripping under the force. The arm was trying to pull back, but Craig wasn't ready to let it go, he twisted his head around to inflict more damage as the rage controlling him grew even stronger. He hated the man, and he was going to make sure that no matter what happened Adam was going to know just what he'd really turned him into. He wasn't going to die a weak death, though he was sure he was going to die. He wasn't going to just lie down and let Adam Macks kill him without leaving some kind of a mark on him so that he would always remember that in the end he had no control over his son.

Adam managed to rip his hand free, but he screamed out in pure agony as he did, and Craig felt satisfaction at the knowledge that he'd injured the man. He rolled away and found his feet, again his focus was on the gun, and he moved towards it.

"I'm going to kill you, you fucking brat. I'm going to watch the life drain from your eyes!" Adam yelled out just moments before he dove into the boy's back, taking him back to the snow once more, this time on his stomach, his face stung as it broke the crust of the ice beneath him. The force of the tackle knocked the air out of his lungs and the weight holding him down prevented him from sucking in a deep breath. Adam seemed to be pushing down on him hard, applying more pressure than was needed to hold him in place. "You have been a very bad boy." Adam's face rested directly above the boy's head, his hot breath blowing against his neck with every word that slithered from between his lips. "Daddy's got to teach you how to behave."

The pressure lifted enough for him to be flung onto his back once more, his father sitting on his stomach, trapping him. In the same instant Adam's hands both wrapped around his windpipe and started to apply pressure. Craig's eyes, still filled with tears seemed to grow twice their size as the pressure increased. The teen tried to scream out, but his voice couldn't get past the strangle hold his father had on him. His lungs started to ache, struggling to pull in air; his brain tingled and he could feel his heart racing in his chest and then stretch to his ears. It was the only thing he could hear, and for some reason it terrified him.

Craig's hands grabbed hold of Adam's wrists, and he pulled with all the strength he could summon. It did no good, his hands were numb, and the rest of his body seemed to cramp up, losing the last reserves of oxygen. The pressure seemed to grow, and his vision shaded around the edges. He looked past Adam, to the dark clouds; he didn't want his father's face to be the last thing in front of him when he died. He didn't want to die, he wasn't going willingly. It wasn't like before, when he'd given up at the farm, but his arms felt heavy and his legs wouldn't rise off the ground anymore, no matter how hard he tried. The pressure holding back the air rose behind his eyes, the pain stabbing at his brain. One last flash of memory hit him just as he was about to lose consciousness. On the ice, when his brothers had schooled him on fighting back, Angel had told him about sensitive areas, and one of those areas was the eyes. Craig let go of his grip on Adam's arms, it was a futile attempt to pull the man's hands from around his throat anyway. Instead, with the last bit of strength left in him, he pulled his gaze back to Adam's wild looking eyes, and thrust his hands outward, his thumbs sinking deep into the sockets.

* * *

The muscles in Bobby's legs burned with every step that moved him forward through the snow, he could feel Jack behind him and somehow that gave him the fuel to keep moving forward. If Jack, who was still healing for the most part from a bullet hole in his lung, could force the strength to keep going, then there was no reason for Bobby to have so much trouble, except that his ribs stabbed at him from the roll down the hill and sudden stop against a grave stone. He could no longer see the figure they had been chasing through the trees but he followed the prints left in the fresh layer of frozen snow. They were leading him straight to his mother's grave.

His lungs fought against the stabbing sensation as he pushed his way through the last line of trees and faced the sight of Adam Macks fifty yards in front of him, on top of his kid. He felt the furry burn instantly, and he held in a yell that tried to rise from inside as his feet picked up and moved faster than he thought possible.

His gun was in his right hand, but his mind was too focused on the image of Adam Macks choking the fucking life out of the fourteen year old. No, he was not going to lose Craig, not now. Not when there was finally a connection between them. After seven years of wondering why the hell his mother thought bringing in another kid was such a good idea, he finally got it. It finally registered for him, and he couldn't lose that now.

"Bobby! Get his ass!" Jack yelled from behind him, and in the same instant the Ford Taurus that had been fishtailing along the pavement the last time it was in view came around the last curve on the hill; the engine was still running hard, the back end swung around and caught the edge of the drive, kicking up dirt and gravel before returning to slide towards the stone wall.

Bobby felt the yell swelling up inside of him as he neared his mother's grave and knew he couldn't hold it in much longer. He could see Craig lying on his back, the obvious struggle to free himself of the death grip around his throat weakening quickly. He dove hard as the last few feet closed in. He was almost there. Just moments before he barreled into Macks Craig's hands came into view, gauging at the attacker's eyes. Macks yelled out and released his hold on the boy's throat to grab at the hands in his face.

Bobby landed on Adam Macks hard. The yell he'd been holding in released as a loud, incoherent roar as he rolled twice across the ground with Macks. He felt the gun sliding from his fingers and tried to curse loudly, but it only morphed the roar still rumbling past his throat to unfinished syllables of partial words. "So bi, moth, fuck, dasht."

The roll slowed down as he came up on top of Macks and he pulled his knees up under him, managing to plant one on the man's chest while the other sunk into the freezing snow, "You son of a bitch!" He growled while thrusting his left hand down on the man's throat. His right fist started pounding on Adam Macks' face as the furry that had been building released with a force that even Bobby Mercer hadn't expected. "Fuck you, you mother fucker…" He would have gone on, but the man under him seemed to come to life instantly, his hands thrusting upwards, his hands making contact with Bobby's chest.

The stabbing that Bobby had been ignoring seemed to erupt inside, like a knife slicing through him. It cut off his air, and his head started to spin wildly. Bobby felt his body falling while Macks retaliated with blows of his own. His back hit the snow as a fist crushed at his jaw.

"Bobby!" Angel's voice, from a distance, rang against the buzzing that filled his head. He pulled his right knee up in an attempt to knock Macks away from him, but the man was delivering another punch, this time square in the middle of Bobby's face, just next to his nose. His head was still spinning on him, and he knew he had to get his senses straight, and damn fast.

The sounds around Bobby seemed to fade slightly, a rumble of yells that he couldn't quite make out over his own grunts and Macks' groans. He managed to suck in one deep breath before he flung his left hand up towards Macks' shoulder and twisted his body around. The move seemed to have the desired effect and he was able to sit himself up in time to block another punch coming towards him. He swung his right leg around and knocked the son of a bitch onto the ground next to him.

It was that moment that he seen Macks reaching for a gun in the snow. He knew he had lost his weapon when he'd jumped the fucker, but his dizzying mind was sure it had gone in the other direction. The black steel slid slightly at the force of Macks' touch, and Bobby flung his body forward in hopes to stop him from grabbing it.

Both men slid several inches on the icy crust before it gave way and allowed them to sink down through the snow to the grass. Bobby tried to get his bearings quickly. He was lying on his left side, sinking into the muck beneath. A head stone was positioned at his feet. Macks was lying on his stomach directly next to him, his left arm and hand close to him, the blood flowing freely from a gaping wound in his wrist.

Bobby noticed the blood staining the blinding white underneath and felt a pride swelling inside. Craig had caused some kind of injury and that made him realize just how hard the kid had to have been fighting the fucker. He had to end this, now, for Craig's sake. He managed to push himself up from the ground enough to pull his left arm up before swinging it down hard on the injury.

Macks yelled out and rolled away from the pain. Satisfaction at the man's misery seemed to drip from Bobby. The image of Adam Macks cowering away from him would burn into his brain; it was something he would remember for the rest of his life. He had the man where he wanted him, and he was going to finish him off. Bobby moved forward, ready to take his fight to the next level. He was going to beat the life out of the sick fucker in front of him. He was going to beat his face unto such a state that he would be unidentifiable, and he was going to savor the feel and sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing under his fist, and just before Macks drew his last breath he was going to make sure the monster who had terrorized his little brother knew why he was dying. He'd touched that boy, he'd abused him in ways that were still beyond Bobby's imagination and he could imagine a hell of a lot of shit.

Bobby rose up high on his knees; his right fist drew back behind his head, ready to throw the punch that would send Macks into a deep enough daze that he wouldn't be able to fight back.

Macks did one complete roll, and rose up, his right hand came out from under him, and the gun he'd been reaching for moments before was in his grip, pointed at Bobby Mercer. The man flashed a wicked smile as Bobby froze in his position, his fist still barred tightly. He could see the gun more clearly now, and knew it wasn't the one he had lost control of.

Macks steadied himself and drew in deeply through his bloodied lip and bruising jaw. It appeared as if his teeth were falling out of his mouth, and before he did anything else he pushed the false set of neat teeth between his lips and let them fall to the ground. He didn't divert his angry eyes from Bobby while he panted hard. His head tilted to one side. "I've been waiting for this day. The day that I put an end to you, and the fucking trouble you've made for me." Macks' voice came out raspy and cold as he gasped for air; Bobby could feel the words slicing through him like ice, and in that moment he understood how being around the fucker Craig had known as his father for so many years could mess the kid up so badly.

He didn't move, not even to drop his fist. He tried to figure out a way to take that gun, or dodge the bullet if it was fired. He felt his eyes widen as Macks pulled back on the hammer of the gun.

Shit, this wasn't working out the way Bobby Mercer had planned.


	80. Chapter 80

Sorry it's so late, but I promised a chapter, so here it is :) Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading.

Legal stuff still counts.

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**Chapter 80: Taking Aim**

Angel reached his hands out to grab hold of the head rests on each of the bucket seats while he leaned forward in the middle of the car. He watched Jeremiah plant his hands on the dashboard in front of him while Johnny struggled with the car under him. He glanced over Johnny's shoulder to look at their speed, it was only thirty miles an hour, but on the icy pavement weaving through the cramped space of the cemetery it felt more like fifty. The car rounded the last curve and the drive would dead end into a turnaround circle at the bottom of the hill. Just off to the right of that turnaround was where Evelyn Mercer had been laid to rest a little more than a month prior. Angel felt his pulse quicken and sweat dotted his forehead as the anticipation and anxiety building took their toll on him. His adrenaline was rising; he knew he wasn't going to be able to keep his composure much longer.

The trees lining the right side of the drive blocked any view of the grave they were racing towards, but as soon as they made it around that last curve the trees gave way to the field of gravestones jutting up through the snow, the layer of ice shined even in the grey-black cloud cover above them. Angel sat forward a little more, his head poking between the seats. "Fuck." He muttered as his mind processed the view in front of him. Craig lying under Adam Macks, kicking and struggling and Macks with his hands wrapped around the boy's throat. "Johnny, move your ass!" He yelled out the words though he knew that Johnny couldn't go any faster on the ice without losing full control of the car.

He slid behind the bucket seat holding Jeremiah, preparing for the car to stop. He had no intentions of holding back once that door was open. The tail end of the Taurus skidded hard towards the shoulder of the drive and Angel thought for a split second they were about to roll down the hill. He braced himself for the ride but the rear swung back, smashing into the stone wall on the opposite side. Johnny's foot alternated between the brakes and gas, trying to slow down and still remain in control of where the car was going.

The back end started to skid to the right just as it reached the circle at the end. Angel felt his body being pulled in that direction, and he was still trying to keep his sights on what was happening in the snow, fifty feet away from him. Bobby and Jack were running towards the struggle taking place in front of Evelyn Mercer's grave. It seemed everything played out in slow motion in front of him. He could hear Johnny cursing the wheels beneath them, and Jerry was yelling something. The car started sliding sideways towards the far end of the circle. Angel could feel the speed decreasing as his world spun around him with the motion of the car. He pushed on the front seat. "Open your fucking door Jerr', open your door!" He yelled out.

Jeremiah didn't' argue, he leaned forward in the seat and reached for the handle. The door opened, but tried to swing back towards the car to slam closed. Jeremiah held his arm out, keeping the latch from catching while Angel pushed the seat up hard, he pushed his way past the upholstery and dove outward, barely hearing Jeremiah's groans from confinement he'd been forced to endure in the tight space left for him between his seat and the dashboard. Angel hit the ice and rolled.

It wasn't until he'd come to a stop, facing the car that it occurred to him that waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete stop may have been a better strategy. He pulled his feet under him and managed to get out of the way just as the car skidded to a stop, resting over the very spot where he'd landed. He didn't take the time to ponder what had nearly happened; instead he turned and looked over to where the Bobby and Jack were converging on Macks. Bobby managed to pull ahead of Jack and was diving into Macks.

Angel started moving towards the fight breaking out between Bobby and Macks. Jack had slowed down to a fast walk, almost as if he was afraid to get too close. Craig was still lying in the snow looking too still. Angel's focus was on Craig for the moment. He had confidence that Bobby could deal with Macks, and Jack was closer to him if he did need back up. Craig wasn't moving.

As he drew nearer he could hear Bobby's angry curses drifting across the air with a rhythm that seemed to match the sound of the ice beating down on the ground, but his focus was still on Craig. Shit, was he breathing? Why the hell wasn't he moving? Macks couldn't have killed him, he couldn't have. His feet slid as he increased his speed, trying to get to the kid.

Craig rolled onto his side and let out a sudden cough, as if he'd been struggling to grab hold of air and it finally hit his lungs too hard. Angel felt relief. He glanced towards Bobby's fight just as Macks' thrust his hands outward, knocking his older brother off of him. Angel nearly stopped the run he was in. He'd thought Bobby had Macks under control. "Bobby!" He yelled out as he reached Craig. He slid down to his knees and checked the boy quickly. He was breathing, though he looked pale and his eyes were rimmed red. He rested a hand on Craig's arm for a short second. "You're okay, you're okay." He spoke quickly, though he wasn't sure the boy could hear him. He could hear Jerry and Johnny's approach behind him. "Watch him." He called out, turning to see Johnny with a sawed off shotgun his hands and Jeremiah pointing towards Bobby.

Angel turned back to Bobby once more. "Jack, what the fuck is wrong with you?" He yelled out, seeing that Bobby was in deep shit with Macks on top of him and beating the snot out of him while Jack stood back and watched. He got back to his feet and started running towards his oldest brother. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out his gun, but he damn thing seemed to stick around the pocket lining. He cursed under his breath as he fought the material for possesion of his weapon.

Angel still had too much distance between him and Bobby to do shit but he was moving in. It seemed everything was playing out in front him, too fast for him to keep up with. He couldn't get to everyone that needed him and it pissed him off. He watched as Bobby struck back at Macks, and the fucker rolled off of him. He watched Bobby raise his fist and Macks pull the gun out. He could feel the adrenaline screaming out in his veins as he pushed his legs hard to close the gap. The black gun that swung up from under Macks was a surprise. He was sure Bobby was dead that very moment. There was no way he could get to him in time. He yelled out, but he wasn't sure what he was yelling. He could see the hesitation in Bobby's eyes and for the first time since he'd known Bobby Mercer, he was convinced the man was about to die. He'd seen him live through a lot of shit, but this was just too fucking close.

Angel pulled up and stopped when he seen Macks pull back on the hammer of the gun, he was sure he was about to witness Bobby Mercer falling back in the snow in a pool of blood. The picture his mind formed was sickening and it constricted his throat, bringing on a stinging sensation behind his eyes. The gun blast echoed through the trees and seemed to go on forever.

* * *

Craig didn't know what had hit Adam Macks and knocked him away. He didn't know what force could have managed that feat, but whatever it was he was thankful. He stared at the dark clouds rolling around above him and tried to suck in a breath. His lungs were struggling with the attempt, but it felt as if his throat was blocked off, still being squeezed off by the pressure Adam had applied. He could hear the sounds of flesh hitting flesh and it seemed it was far away. When he turned his head, he could see Bobby on top of Adam, beating on him as if he had no intention of ever letting the man get up off of the ground. He could hear the angry words trying to escape his brother, the loud cursing and the look on his face was like none he'd ever witnessed before. It sent chills down his body. Bobby was out to kill Adam Macks, and it wasn't going to be so neat and tidy, like it had been with Sweet. He was going to leave a bloody mess in his wake.

A yell behind him drew his attention in the other direction and he was sure he could see Angel running towards him. Then, as if someone had turned a switch, air sucked deep into his lungs, stinging as it hit. He coughed hard and turned onto his side. He could feel the cold under him, and hear the sound of Angel's feet pounding through the snow as he got closer. Behind Angel was Jeremiah, following the path Angel had cut through the snow. Behind Jeremiah was Johnny, a sawed off shot gun in his hands. He knew this was real, his brothers were there. Bobby had come for him; all of his brothers had come.

Angel slid to a stop while dropping down to his knees next to him. He looked into Craig's eyes and dropped his hand down on his arm. He said something to him and then turned and yelled words to Jeremiah before turning back to look on to where Bobby was fighting down Adam.

Craig turned and watched Angel running towards Bobby and his father. He was pulling a gun out of his coat pocket, but seemed to be fumbling with the weapon. How Bobby and Adam had managed to put so much distance between him and them in such a short period of time was beyond Craig. It seemed they were too far away from Angel to reach them. He'd been trying to squeeze air past the throbbing in his throat and everything that had happened in the past few minutes seemed like nothing more than a blur. He flinched when hands grabbed hold of him and he looked up at Jeremiah. He sucked in another deep breath and coughed it back out as he throat and lungs both clenched at the air.

Jeremiah flashed a quick smile. "You had us scared shitless kid." He spoke quietly and lifted Craig up into a sitting position. His eyes shifted to Angel, who had pulled himself to a full stop. "Fuck."

Craig followed Jeremiah's gaze to Angel for a second, before shifting on to Bobby. He felt his lungs suck in another long breath at the sight of Adam pointing a gun at Bobby's head. He felt his heart clench and he held the breath in. He barely realized Jeremiah was hauling him to his feet until his arms encircled him as if he were about to drag him away from the scene in front of him. Johnny stepped past Craig and Jerry and pulled the sawed off he was carrying up, but the gun shot that rang out was not from the shot gun.

Craig's instincts cause his muscles to flinch. He felt as if his heart has been ripped out of his chest. Tears flooded his vision, warping the world around him. He heard his own voice screaming out. "Bobby!" He struggled against Jeremiah's hold, trying to run forward, to where he knew he was going to find his oldest brother laid out in the snow, dead, though at that moment he wasn't able to see it through the distorted images. How was he going to live his life without the one person he needed most? He squeezed his eyes closed, emptying out the salty wet. When he opened them, he focused on Bobby.

Bobby fell backwards, from his knees onto his ass. His head turned towards Angel, and then his eyes met Craig's. It seemed to take a moment for Craig to absorb the fact that Bobby wasn't dead. There was blood splattered on him, but the boy had no way of knowing if it was his or from Adam. He looked at Adam. The man had fallen towards Bobby, and slightly to his left. His body was still, unmoving. Bobby turned and looked in another direction.

"Jack?" Angel called out and turned slightly on his feet. Craig could only see his back until he made that turn.

Craig sucked a deep breath as Jeremiah let go of him. He looked past Angel and Bobby, to Jack, standing closer to the tree line. He was holding a gun out in front of him, but his arms were shaking. He didn't move. He didn't answer Angel. He seemed to be staring into space.

"Jackie?" Bobby called out and struggled to his feet. He started moving unsteadily towards the younger man, who didn't seem to hear his name being called to him.

Craig felt part of his body relax. He watched as Angel and Jeremiah both started walking towards Jack, following Bobby's lead. His breathing was still coming hard, in pants, but he felt okay. The steam that rose from each exhale drifted upwards and to the right, following the direction of the wind and the slant in the falling ice.

Bobby reached Jack first, reaching his hand out slowly and carefully pushing the gun downward, lowering Jack's eyes. Jack continued to stare straight ahead, though Bobby was talking to him. They were too far away from Craig to hear anything that was being said, but he could see Bobby's lips move, and then Jack's. He wondered what they were saying.

Jack hated guns. He rarely touched them. He didn't like to be around them, but Bobby had taught him about them, made him learn. Craig remembered how odd that had seemed to him. He hated guns too, and he hadn't liked it when Bobby had forced him to hold one and learn to load and unload it. He wondered if Jack had hated learning about guns as much as Craig had. He wondered if Jack had ever thought he'd be able to actually use one to take a life. Bobby and Angel had shot Stanley and his buddy, and Craig could still remember the look on Jack's face, the way he'd turned away.

Angel and Jeremiah reached Bobby and Jack, and the four of them were grouped together, talking quietly. Craig could see Jack nodding his head while Bobby pulled the gun away from him. The boy turned and looked at the still form lying in the snow which had been marked and rutted by the hard struggle that had played out there. He felt his feet moving slowly. Johnny was watching his brothers, not paying any mind to him as he moved.

Adam Macks was dead. He could see it with his own eyes, cold dead, and blood staining the snow under him. He had spent his entire life looking over his shoulder, waiting for the monster to return, and it had always happened. His mother would clean herself up, get off the drugs, and for a short time Craig could sleep at night with no fear. Then the monster would return and hell would rise, and Craig would be sucked back into the nightmare.

After that last night, his mother was dead, and the monster was gone, but not for good. It was never for good. He had come back and made threats to his adoptive mother. He had followed them, and harassed them, making life another kind of hell. He wouldn't have let up either, if Evelyn hadn't died. He had helped Sweet with hopes that he'd be able to get his hands on Craig, the boy knew that. He had come back again after Sweet was dead. Another nightmare had come to life. Just when the teen had thought that things were going to be different, that Adam Macks was dead and he could accept a new life and feel safe, he had come back again. It didn't seem possible that he could really be dead now. How could the monster be gone? It was the only thing in Craig's life that had been constant, and as much as he wanted it, it didn't seem possible that what he was seeing was real.

Craig stopped a few feet from the blood soaked snow. He thought that he should feel something. The dead man at his feet was his father after all. Shouldn't a son feel something for his father? Shouldn't there be some kind of remorse, or emptiness? He had felt that with Evelyn. He still felt it, so intense that he couldn't seem to lose it. He yearned for her, some days more than others, but it was there, constantly, every day. There were times when other emotions overpowered the grief for Evelyn, but it was still there. He couldn't remember much after his real mother's death, but he was sure he'd felt something then as well. He knew there were times when he missed her. But Adam, no, there was nothing. Not even the satisfaction he would have expected from the knowledge that he was never going to be hurt by the monster again.

* * *

Bobby reached Jack, the look on his brother's face was a mixture of fear and determination, but he looked as if he were in shock, or in a daze. Tears were streaking down his cheeks. He knew Jack wasn't a killer, and he knew how hard it had to be for him to pick the gun up to start with. He had spent a lot of years handing Jack a gas can and a crow bar because he knew his little brother couldn't shoot a person. He had always had Jack hang back from the real action to keep him from being around the shit that would give him nightmares. He had never come right out and told him that. He'd always told him his part was the most important, that he had their backs and it was up to him to keep anyone they were confronting from getting past them. Jack knew he was being fed a line of bullshit, of course, but it was part of the routine. Part of what made it all work. Jack didn't want to be around the shit and Bobby didn't want him around it. Still, Jack wanted to be a part of whatever his brother's got mixed up in and the bullshit worked.

He reached out and rested his hand on the gun, giving it a gentle push downward, keeping his hand around the barrel until he felt Jack would be willing to release it. "Jackie." He spoke quietly. "It's okay, little brother." He looked at him.

Jack didn't look at him; his eyes remained focused ahead of him. "He was gonna kill you Bobby." His words came out with a tremble.

"Not with you watching my fucking back. You think I didn't know you wouldn't let anything happen to me? Hell, Jack you saved my fucking life, you know that, right?" Bobby was laying on the bullshit now, as thick as he could. In all honesty, he had expected Angel to pull his piece and blast Macks to hell, or Jerry to do the deed. He hadn't wanted or expected Jack to pick up the weapon he'd been careless enough to lose hold of. "You're my favorite brother right now, you know that don't you?" He kept his voice quiet and forced a laugh.

Jack finally shifted his eyes to take in Bobby, his expression turning to a critical scowl. "Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking five year old Bobby. I think I've just earned the right be treated a little better than that."

Bobby drew in a deep breath as Angel and Jerry joined them. "You did good Jack. I mean that. You did damn good." He reached out with his free hand and let it rest on Jack's shoulder while his other hand eased the gun from Jack's hands. "You listen to me. I got nothin' but respect for you. I love the hell out of you. You just did something that I never thought I'd see you do, and fuck, you did save my life." He felt his own eyes tearing up behind the bruises rising from the blows that had been thrown at him minutes earlier and prayed no one else would notice.

"Jackie." Angel spoke as he came to a stop in front of the younger man. "You did fucking great man." He reached out and gave Jack a gentle pat on the arm. "Where the hell did you learn to shoot that damn good?"

Jack looked at Angel, Jeremiah and then back to Bobby. "That was a lucky shot. I had my eyes closed." He admitted with a weak voice.

Bobby felt his nerves work up. His brother had fired off a gun with his eyes closed? Fuck, that figured. He turned and looked at Johnny who was still holding onto his sawed off. He turned his head slightly to locate Craig. "Shit." He muttered and started to move back in the direction of Macks' body. "Craig, get away from him." He spoke loud. He realized he hadn't checked to see if Macks was actually dead. The man had been shot in the back and he'd dropped like a lead weight, but that didn't mean he was dead.

Craig didn't move; he didn't seem to hear Bobby's voice.

The air was cut by the sound of gunning motors and screeching brakes. Bobby spun around in time to see the beige sedan being driven by Johnson come around the edge of the trees, followed closely by the Cadillac that had been on the attack.


	81. Chapter 81

Final Chapter! Yay!!! It's finally completed :) Thanks to everyone who has been reading, and please, let me know what you think, it means a lot to know your thoughts.

Legal stuff still counts.

* * *

**Chapter 81: Live It The Best You Can**

Winter in Detroit was unpredictable. The weather in the rest of the country could be mild while Detroit was miserable. It was no surprise that the ice was beating down on them, starting to change back into snow, but still having already caused the damage that ice could cause. Bobby cursed under his breath as Johnson's car skidded out of control between the grave markers, taking a few of the stones down in its path, which led in the direction of Craig, who seemed to be in a fucking daze, standing over the form of the man who had turned their lives upside down.

Bobby yelled as he ran. He had let his fucking guard down and he knew better. Jack had shot Macks, but in the confusion, their concern for the brother holding the smoking gun, and the relief that had fallen over them all, they had neglected to check the target to make sure that he was dead.

His mind flashed a picture of Macks on the edge of the dock, after putting a bullet into the fucker. They had all assumed he was no longer a problem after that, but here he was. This time should have been different. They should have known better than think that he would fall over dead. There was something about it that felt wrong. "Craig!" Bobby yelled louder.

He heard someone calling his name as he dodged the out of control sedan and grabbed hold of the teen. He pulled Craig out of the way just as the car slid over top of Macks' body. The clue Cadillac rammed the police car in the side, pushing it a little further before it finally came to a stop.

Bobby pulled Craig as far as the spot where Johnny was standing, his shot gun raised and pointed to the driver in the Caddy. He pulled the boy around to stand face him. "You keep your ass right here, or I swear I'll make you regret it." He felt relief that the kid was okay, but at the same time the fear that had ripped through him just seconds before compiled with the worry he'd been dealing with since he'd woke that morning. The pressure of the plans he and his brothers had spent so much time putting together, having a fucking gun held in his face, knowing Jack had shot a man down for him; everything combined to wear his nerves thin and flare his temper hot.

He didn't give the boy a chance to reply or show any kind of reaction to his words before he turned and looked at the Cadillac. It shouldn't have been a surprise to him to see Bradley Jordan sitting in the driver's seat, slumped over the steering wheel, out cold. The Cadillac didn't appear too damaged from the impact, but had stalled and steam was rising from under the hood.

Despite the cold and the ice around him Bobby felt heat rising from inside. He wasn't going to let Jordan get away with the shit. He wasn't going to let him off with fucking jail time. He'd been helping Macks, and now he was going to pay the price for screwing with his family.

"Bobby, don't do it." Johnson's voice called out as Bobby stormed across the snow pack towards the driver's door of the luxury car.

Bobby noticed Angel and Jeremiah moving in his direction with Jack trailing them. He turned to take in the fact that Johnson was climbing out of his car and he picked up his stride slightly. "He ain't getting out of here." He warned the cop. Hell, if Green had been there he was sure he'd have the same argument to go through before he put a bullet in Jordan's head. He tightened his grip on the gun he'd taken from Jack. "I've done jail, I ain't got no problem with doin' it again if it keeps my family safe from a sick fucker like him."

"You aren't going to do anyone any good from behind bars Bobby. You had a reason to kill Macks; he was out to kill you. That's all documented, and we know it to be fact. That's self defense. If you kill an unconscious man, that's plain murder. You really want to rot in a jail cell the rest of your life when you've got people who need you?" Johnson moved towards him. "I already called it in. There are other units on the way, along with EMT's. Just let them take care of Jordan."

Bobby felt frustration filling him. "You got any idea what this fucker did to that boy?" He spoke louder than he needed to as he turned and pointed to Craig. "Have you got any idea what my family has been through the past fucking month? I ain't got a problem rotting in a fucking prison if it means that kid don't have to look over his shoulder the rest of his life, you got that Johnson?"

"Yes, I do. And I also know that you are going to get the sweetest kind of revenge if you let him go to prison for what he's done." Johnson stopped in front of Bobby, blocking his path to the Cadillac and the man in it. "They will take care of his sick ass on the inside Bobby and you will still be out here, watching that kid grow up." It was Johnson's turn to point towards Craig.

Bobby tried to push forward, but hands grabbed him from behind. "He's right Bobby. Jordan ain't worth it." Jeremiah spoke directly behind him. "Let it be."

Bobby had lost track of Jeremiah and Angel for that brief moment of attempted defiance with Johnson. He didn't try to pull away from Jeremiah, but he made a mental note to be pissed at him later. Jack came up next to him, his face still carrying the mental battle he'd just gone through with picking up a gun and firing it. He looked for Angel but didn't see him, until his head poked up from the other side of the Cadillac's front end. "One thing is for sure." Angel flashed him a smile. "If Macks wasn't dead before, he damn sure is now."

Bobby didn't understand at first, and the confusion creased his forehead, until he looked at the position of the two cars. He leaned over and checked the ground. The remains of Adam Macks were now spread across the snow, in what looked several large chunks. He stood straight up and looked at Johnson. "Okay, I'll give you Jordan." He muttered. He hadn't expected the sight of Macks' remains to be so disturbing, he had a fucking hard core, but his stomach quivered at the sight and sucked the fight right out of him.

Johnson looked confused by the sudden change in Bobby's attitude. He turned and leaned over to check the undercarriage of the Caddy. "Shit." He muttered while Bobby turned and looked at Jeremiah.

"You know this means we gotta talk to more cops now, you up for that?" He asked as they started walking back towards where Johnny was standing with Craig.

Angel joined them on Bobby's other side and Jack slid up next to Jeremiah.

"Hell, Bobby, you told me once the cops love the Mercers." Jerry smiled. "They gave us such a warm reception the last time."

"Hell yeah, so that would explain why I always seem to walk away from the cops feeling like I've been fucked up the ass." Bobby grumbled. "But hell, should be used to that by now, right?"

"So that explains your homophobia, and the way you walk." Jack spoke with a straight face, his tone mocking.

Bobby leaned forward slightly as they reached Craig and Johnny. "Shut the fuck up Jack. You're on my good side right now, so don't go fucking it up."

"No, Bobby, you need to be showing me a little more respect. You owe me, remember?" Jack held his hand up and pointed a finger towards his oldest brother. "No more calling me 'Fairy', no more fucking gay jokes. I'm not gay." He drew in a deep breath. "No more talking to me like I'm a fucking idiot, and no more treating me like I'm five years old."

Bobby held his breath for a long moment before looking away from the younger man. "You finally did something right Jack, don't screw it up now by running your mouth. I know you're used to keeping it busy, but don't try replacing one fucked up habit with another."

"Jackie, you are always gonna be a little brother, nothing you can do about that shit. Just learn to live with it." Jeremiah laughed.

The four of them pulled to a stop in front of Johnny and Craig and fell silent. Bobby looked at Johnny. "Not exactly how you expected today to turn out, is it Johnny?" He asked.

"Hell, I ain't had this much fun since my ex wife tried to shoot me." Johnny laughed.

Bobby grinned and looked down at Craig, who was staring at the ground at his feet. "You okay?" He reached out and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're cold?" He knew the answer, hell, it was a stupid question, but the kid didn't look too good and instinct told him not to point out specifics.

Craig didn't look up. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

"We can talk about how you fucked up later, when I have the time to be pissed." Bobby grabbed hold of him and pulled him close. "Come on; let's get you in a car where you can warm up." He looked over at Johnny and didn't have to ask about the car.

"I think the engine is still running." Johnny gave a nod in the direction of the Taurus.

"Thanks Johnny G." Bobby eased his arm around the kid and walked him towards the warmth.

Bobby put Craig in the back seat and then got in the front, behind the wheel. He made sure the heat was turned up. "Get your coat off, it's soaked." He instructed.

Craig followed the directions his brother gave him. Bobby turned in the seat and looked at the boy. He wished he could take him home right then. He wanted to get him away from what was going on. "You know, the cops might want to ask you some questions." He commented. "You don't have to talk to them. Anything they need to know we can tell them." He spoke calmly. "Only thing is, I have no idea how to explain you bein' out here in a fucking ice storm, alone." He felt his voice tense up. "You wanna tell me about that? This ain't where I left you. This ain't where I wanted you. So you tell me what the fuck you were doing out here."

Craig fidgeted in the back seat, but didn't look at Bobby. He kept his head lowered and held his hands close to his stomach. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

"You done said that. I ain't gonna get pissed. Not yet, I ain't got the time for that. But right now I need to know why you were here." Bobby struggled to keep his voice calm as he remembered the fear that had gripped him when his little brother came up missing.

Craig shook his head. "I don't know."

Bobby sighed and did a mental count down from ten to one. His mother had often told him to use that method before he went off half cocked and did something stupid. It never seemed to work for him, but still he tried it from time to time, hoping it would have the desired effect that she had said it would. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them and looked out the side window. Police cruisers came into view, moving at a slow creep down the drive. "When I found out you had left Johnny's I was scared Craig. I didn't want you in the middle of shit. Now look at where you are. I'm supposed to be able to keep you safe and protect you. You know you gotta do what I tell you or I can't do my fucking job. You know that. I took you to Johnny's for a reason. So I figure there had to be something you thought you had to do. You're gonna tell me all about it, after we take care of business here. You got that?" he turned and looked at the boy.

Craig didn't look up at him. He didn't say a word.

Bobby pulled in a deep breath and started to get out of the car.

"Bobby." Craig spoke quietly.

Bobby turned back to look at the boy. His head was still lowered, and he wished he would look up at him so he could try to read what was going through his head.

"I got scared, and I wanted to talk to Mom." Craig admitted in a quiet voice.

It was what Bobby had figured, but it still caught him by surprise. "I hope she helped you feel better, I really do. But you got more shit to explain later. Okay?" He asked.

Craig nodded his head, but still didn't raise his eyes to meet his brother's gaze.

"Okay. You just sit tight here. I'm gonna get the medics to check you over real good in just a little bit, but I don't want you around the cops or any of the other shit." He wasn't about to point out that Jordan was there, and he damn sure didn't want Craig where he could see the remains of Adam Macks when they were pulled out from under the car one piece at a time.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Craig asked quietly.

Bobby nodded his head, though he knew the boy couldn't see the action. "Yeah, Craig, he's dead." He waited for anything else from the kid, but nothing came.

The drive was filling with the emergency vehicles, uniforms and suits. He got out of the car and closed the door. There was no reason to put it off, though he wasn't looking forward to it. He walked back to where his brothers were standing with Johnny. Johnson was meeting with some officers barking out orders as if he knew exactly what the hell to do in a cemetery to wrap up a car chase, shooting and run over corpse. It would have been a funny thought if things weren't so fucking tense.

It was going to turn into a long day, but in the end, they would be able to put Adam Macks and all his bullshit behind them. There would be no more reason for Craig to be afraid. His family would be safe and finally have the chance to get on with their lives. There was a lot of shit to take care of.

Jeremiah had to get his business straight and pretty damn quick, the Mercers needed jobs. If Bobby Mercer had to find work, it probably wasn't going to be the most honorable type of employment, not in Detroit. He knew a lot of fucking contacts and not one of them could offer legitimate jobs. He was real fucking good at collecting money for a decent cut, and he knew a thing or two about running clubs with not so principled standards of operations, but a real job? It had never been something he was good at, real jobs. He always needed funds too fucking bad and real jobs just didn't pay enough money fast enough.

Angel was gonna need work, and real soon. Hell, he was bringing in another mouth to feed and body to clothe. It wasn't like La Vida Loca was gonna come cheap.

As for Jackie, hell, the kid hadn't said a fucking word about returning his punk ass to New York. He might just take off once shit had settled, and return to the glamorous life he'd started in the big city. Bobby had to laugh at that thought. Hell, Jack's life in New York wasn't the best, he knew that. He'd dropped by a few times to check on the kid, and it had been the same every time. Yeah, his band was playing a few clubs, and there was a little money flowing, but it wasn't enough to pay the rent. The kid had been working odd jobs where ever he could find them, trying to squeeze the band in and wearing his ass out. He would be better off back home, working a real job and making something more of his life. He was smart enough to do that. He could still hold onto the music, he would have to, just like Bobby held onto Hockey. But reality was reality. He might try to talk to Jack about that if the opportunity came up.

Childhood dreams were good. Bobby had lived for hockey since he could remember. It sucks when you get a good hold on those dreams and the fuck it up. He hadn't really fucked it up; he had just realized it wasn't what he'd thought it would be. On the road too much, not being able to feel settled no matter where he was. The only good thing about his time on the ice was being able to draw blood, and that got his ass suspended too many fucking times to count.

Thoughts like that clouded his mind while he and his brothers talked to several different cops, one of them identified himself as a federal agent. The Mercers and Johnny repeated their story over and over again. Johnson stuck with them and backed up their stories. Every time Bobby managed to clear his head enough to concentrate on what was going on around him, more of the thoughts would filter in and he'd get lost in wondering about what kind of plans should be made once they all got back to their lives.

After what seemed forever Johnson mentioned the medics and that Bobby needed to be looked at. Bobby insisted they check out Craig as well and went to the car to get him. The two of them sat in the back of one of the ambulances while the medics examined them and their brothers and Johnny stood at the door, watching. Bobby kept his eye on the kid, he half expected him to freak out, but to his surprise he didn't.

It seemed hours had passed since the cemetery had filled with half the Detroit police force when Johnson walked up to the ambulance and looked in at Bobby. He had cleared them all to leave. He told him he'd be contacting them soon for written statements, but for the time being they were free to go.

Johnny looked at Bobby as Johnson walked away. "Well, boys, we gotta problem." He spoke quietly.

"What's that Johnny G.?" Bobby asked while he pulled his coat around him and took a hold of Craig's arm to help him out of the emergency squad.

Angel grabbed for Craig to catch him on the ground. "Yeah, how the hell can we have any more problems?"

"Have any of you taken a good look at my car lately? It wasn't really built to hold six people." Johnny remarked as he cocked a thumb towards the Taurus.

Bobby grinned. "Don't worry Johnny, we'll manage." He jumped to the ground. "I'll just sit in Jackie's lap. He'll love that."

"Shut the fuck up Bobby." Jack spoke quickly.

"You make it too fucking easy Jack." Bobby's mind was trying to fall back into the thinking about what they needed to do next, again, and he struggled against it. He let Angel walk ahead of him with Craig. Johnny followed them, laughing at what he thought was joking banter between the brothers, but Bobby took quite seriously. Jeremiah and Jack followed Johnny.

Bobby turned and looked at the scene behind him. The red and blue lights from the cruisers seemed to reflect off of the layer of ice that had coated the world. Men in uniforms and suits walked back and forth. He looked at his mother's grave, at the snow disturbed around it for a good distance. The wrecked cars and the blood stains splattered in different areas. "I'm sorry Ma." He muttered, feeling some sort of remorse for her resting place being such a scene.

A warm feeling filled him. He remembered a conversation he'd had with her when he was still quite young. He'd been angry at the world even after living in Evelyn Mercer's home for several years. He'd been pissed about the life he'd had when he was younger and all the bullshit he'd lived through before finding his real home and family under Evelyn Mercer's roof.

Evelyn had looked at him and smiled. He could still see that spark in her eyes and hear the words that she had given him then. "You boys have a real future now Bobby. Live it the best you can. Don't fuck it up."

"You know me too well Ma." Bobby smiled and turned to follow his family. They were going home.


End file.
